The Martian Viking (21 page)

He liked Frankie, all right, but he felt that he had a certain duty toward Felicia. Still, his espionage activity might get him in a lot of trouble, so he hadn't told Felicia about what had really happened on the Olympus raid. If she ever escaped, then she would learn the truth.

The wind felt strong enough to push over their wieldos, but they remained seated in them. Johnsmith used the wieldo to reposition the sheet, which served as a windblock, as it conjoined the section Frankie had just put into place. Johnsmith was pleased with himself for getting it right this time.

At that moment it occurred to him that the reason he had come back, rather than staying with the Arkies, was Felicia. He had really been unable to face the prospect of leaving her in misery, allowing her to believe that he was dead. It seemed odd and egomaniacal, but nobody had ever loved him as fully and as selflessly as Felicia. He could hardly believe the intensity of her passion sometimes. And yet she seemed to be completely sincere.

That's what had finally won him over. How could he give up something as sweet as that?

Well, he'd have to if they probed the new prisoner's brain. There was no way he could cover up for them if Torquemada got the okay from the Conglom to brain slice. It was an unpleasant thought, but he had to face the possibility.

"One thing I've been wondering," Johnsmith said, eager to take his mind off probes and brain slicing. "How did you imprint those onees the night of the Arkie raid? I mean, you were outside with the rest of us."

"I programmed one of the robots that was on line that night. Of course, I knew when the raid was coming, so I instructed the robot to slip the archecoded onee into the matrix while Torquemada was busy, and set the machines to imprint every single onee that way until further notice."

Johnsmith thought that was very clever, and his enjoyment of Frankie's story lasted until their break.

They went back inside and removed their pressure suits. Inside the mess hall, Johnsmith joined Felicia and Alderdice. Frankie went to sit with someone else.

"You're with her all the time," Felicia said.

"Who?" Johnsmith dabbed at his vegetable paste and compcarbs with a fork.

"Don't play dumb with me, Johnsmith Biberkopf," said Felicia. "I'm talking about Wisbar."

"But I've been assigned to a work detail with her," Johnsmith protested. "What else could I do?"

"You've been enjoying it a little too much," Felicia said. "I see you smiling and talking with her."

"What do you want me to do? Spit in her eye?"

Alderdice chortled, causing Felicia to glare at him until he sobered. "Sorry," he murmured.

Felicia turned her anger back on Johnsmith. "Well, what do you have to say for yourself? Why have you been so attentive to Wisbar?"

"Honey, you're the only one who thinks there's anything going on between Fr—between Wisbar and me."

"Frankie," Felicia said, making a sneering face. "That's what you were going to say, wasn't it?"

"Well, you're the only one I know who calls her by her last name," Johnsmith said with annoyance.

"Oh, am I?" Felicia stuck out her chin like a prizefighter, daring him to strike back.

"Yes. Look, Felicia, I'm not going to stop being friends with Frankie or anyone else just because you're jealous."

"I am not jealous!" Her eyes widened dramatically.

"What do you call it, then?" Johnsmith looked down at his tray.

Felicia's angry expression turned sad. She began to cry. "I can't help it if I love you!" she wailed.

"Felicia . . ." But what could he say now? She was upset, and she would blame him for it. If only she knew the truth, about how he and Frankie were working against Torquemada and the Conglom. But he could't say a word about it.

"You don't love me!" she sobbed.

The other prisoners were turning to watch. God, how he hated such scenes. He was so embarrassed that he wished he could go crawl into a hole someplace and die.

"Felicia," he said, "please."

She sniffed, tears rolling down her face. Then, just when he thought she was about to calm down, she swept all three of their trays from the table. Plates and cutlery clattered onto the floor resoundingly.

"Hey!" Alderdice cried, as hot coffee spattered onto his pants.

Felicia paid him no heed, getting up so abruptly that her chair fell over. She stormed out of the mess hall, crying, without saying another word.

A long silence followed. At last Alderdice spoke: "I wish we had robots to clean this up."

But, of course, they had no cleaning robots, which were so common back on Earth. The prisoners did all the cleaning at Elysium. And Johnsmith was pretty sure he knew who would be assigned mess hall duty today. Torquemada had ridden Felicia pretty hard lately. That was part of the reason for her outburst, he was certain of it. But he was tired of her jealousy, just the same.

As he had anticipated, Felicia was assigned to spruce up the mess. Torquemada assigned him to a training detail, however. And when he got to the gymnasium, he found that there was only one prisoner waiting for him.

He had never seen this man before, a stout fellow with a shaved head. There was no doubt that this was the new prisoner, who had been sent from Olympus. "What's your name, soldier?" Johnsmith asked him.

"Jethro Pease."

"I'm the team leader who's been assigned to train you," Johnsmith said.

"I've already been trained," said the sullen Pease, in a thick New England accent.

"Well, then I'll retrain you. My name is Johnsmith Biberkopf. Where were you imprisoned originally?"

"Polar Base Four." Now that he had heard Johnsmith's name, his manner seemed to change subtly. He seemed more cooperative, but it was nothing an observer would have noticed. Johnsmith wasn't sure if it had really happened, in fact. It might have been wishful thinking.

"And how did you escape?"

"It was easy. I could have done it anytime. But this one day, I'd had enough. I just walked out onto the ice to die. I sat there with frost forming on my pressure suit. And I was beginning to feel pretty good. It's true what they say about freezing to death. You start to feel all warm and cozy."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. Anyway, as soon as I got used to the idea that I'm dead, this dilapidated minicarrier comes drifting out of the snow. I'd never seen anything like it. It had these weird symbols painted on the side of it in bright colors. I thought I was hallucinating, but I wasn't."

"What were the symbols?" Johnsmith asked.

"I didn't know it at the time, but they were runes."

"Runes, as in the ancient form of writing?"

"Runes, that's all I know. That's what they called it."

Well, well, well, Johnsmith thought. The Arkies even used the same writing as Vikings.

"Mr. Biberkopf," Jethro Pease asked, "are you interrogating me?"

That was probably for the benefit of anyone who was listening. Or was it? Johnsmith couldn't tell if this guy knew who he was talking to or not. Maybe he was just a good actor. In any event, Johnsmith hoped that Torquemada saw his questions as an interrogation. As team leader, he had the right to ask any questions he wanted, of course. But he really was searching for a way to get the information Pease had been sent to give Johnsmith and Frankie Lee Wisbar. It would come in due time, he suspected. Just now, it was probably best to start Pease's training.

"You look like you're a bit out of shape," Johnsmith said. "I think we'd better start with a few laps around the gym."

Pease groaned, but he didn't protest.

They started off jogging easily. After a couple of laps, Johnsmith quickened the pace, actually enjoying himself. He would never have believed this, if he had seen himself at this moment a year ago.

Pease wheezed and fell back. Turning, Johnsmith ran backwards as the Arkie tried in vain to keep up.

"We'll have you fit in no time," Johnsmith shouted back to him. "I'll work with you every day, until you're ready for some martial arts training."

Pease couldn't run any farther. He stopped, putting his hands down on his thighs as he bent over to catch his breath.

Johnsmith, who had barely broken a sweat, slapped him on the back. For the benefit of anyone who was listening, he said: "We believe in discipline around here, unlike the Arkies."

Pease turned his red face and glanced over his shoulder at Johnsmith with something like contempt. It occurred to Johnsmith that the Arkie didn't realize this display was designed to preempt any suspicion, and was nothing personal. Or perhaps Pease was acting, too. Perhaps he understood exactly what Johnsmith was doing, and was playing along for the benefit of their Conglom jailers.

"Okay, you rested long enough," Johnsmith said in his best Sergeant Daiv manner. "Let's do some calisthenics now. Get down and give me twenty pushups."

Pease slowly did as he was told, although he only made it to sixteen.

"All right," Johnsmith said after about thirty seconds. "Let's pick 'em up and go."

As they ran around the gym, Johnsmith wondered why—if the Conglom forces were in such good shape and were so well disciplined—they had been so badly beaten by the Arkies in the Olympus raid. Frankie claimed that she had been unable to warn the Arkies, so how come they had been ready?

Maybe they were just smarter than the government forces. In spite of Torquemada's hawklike appearance, he really wasn't very intelligent, as far as Johnsmith could see. He had led his troops right into a slaughter, and he had never even shown any remorse. What harm would it have done to express a bit of sadness about the people who had died on the raid?

Johnsmith went to the showers without any hint that Jethro even knew he was an Arkie spy. Of course, Pease might have just been waiting for a time when he was certain they wouldn't be overheard, which could take forever. Or maybe he was waiting for Johnsmith to bring it up . . . . Well, the time would come, sooner or later.

Pease was sent to an isolated room underground, where he would be interviewed by Angel Torquemada later. Perhaps the decision to use the mind probe was still pending . . .or perhaps Torquemada already had permission. That was doubtful, though, if he had to hear from a Conglom panel on Earth.

Most likely, there was still a little time to find out what he wanted.

That night, Felicia refused to sleep with Johnsmith. He felt lonely and deprived, but he didn't beg her to come back to his bunk. Let her stay in her own, if she wanted to act like a jealous bitch. He was tired of being manipulated. He couldn't stop Torquemada from doing it, but he could stop Felicia.

If he had been firmer with Ronindella, maybe he would still be on Earth. That was something to think about while his racing mind gradually faded into sleep.

The next morning, he was back on the wieldos with Frankie.

"I was assigned to the Arkie prisoner yesterday afternoon," he said.

"Yeah, I know." Frankie went on manipulating the wieldo, as she spoke. "Word gets around fast, you know."

Johnsmith nodded. He really didn't know, of course, because he had pretty much confined his circle to the few people he had known since coming to Mars. Those who had attempted to befriend him after the Olympus raid did not interest him.

"I didn't get a chance to talk to him," Johnsmith said. "I mean, to ask him why he was sent to us."

"I don't know what can be done about that," Frankie said, dropping a roofing panel on top of four walls with a sure hand on the wieldo.

"Well, I've got an idea," Johnsmith said. "We'll have him write it down."

"
Write
it down?" Frankie turned to him with a dubious expression. "What makes you think he can write?"

"Most people can write a little," Johnsmith said. "If he can't we'll have to think of something else."

"I guess we can try it," Frankie said, fingering the wieldo once again.

"We better get started," Johnsmith said. "Maybe I can find a way to do it during training this afternoon."

But he didn't.

Torquemada entered the gym just when Johnsmith was getting his courage up to pass a slip of paper to Pease. On it he had written: "Why did they send you?"

He was reaching into his pocket for a pen when the conch shell sounded. He was sure that Torquemada was behind him, so he snatched the note from the startled Pease and bunched it up. Clutching it, he turned to face Torquemada.

"How's the physical training going?" Torquemada asked.

"Fine," Johnsmith said.

"Good, good." Torquemada walked around the two men, sizing up Jethro Pease. "This man is a very special prisoner, you know, Biberkopf."

"He is?"

"Yes, and do you know why?"

"No."

"Because he's the first Arkie to ever come back to us of his own free will."

"You mean, he defected?" Johnsmith gaped. He had never imagined such a thing. It didn't make any sense. He was acutely aware of the balled up piece of paper in his hand. As soon as Torquemada turned his back, Johnsmith stuffed it in his pocket.

"You're probably wondering why we're keeping Mr. Pease in isolation when he's not exercising," Torquemada said. "Well, it's because we don't know if he's really come back to us, or if this is some kind of Arkie trick."

"Oh." This was pretty confusing, Johnsmith thought. How the hell were they going to find out anything? And what if the guy really was an Arkie deserter? What if he told Torquemada about Johnsmith's attempt to slip him a note? Johnsmith had to hope that this was just an Arkie ruse to worm Pease's way into Torquemada's confidence.

"Mr. Pease has already told us some very interesting things about our enemy's encampment." Torquemada favored them with one of his rare smiles. "And I look forward to learning more from him in our next session."

So that was it. Torquemada hadn't been using a probe. He didn't have to brain slice Jethro Pease. Pease was a turncoat.

And now Pease was looking intently at Johnsmith. Was he going to tell Torquemada about the note?

JOHNSMITH FELT THE sweat rolling down his temples, collecting in drops, and hanging from his chin. He was aware of his pulse, and felt strangely off balance. He watched Pease's beady eyes for some sign, but saw nothing there except curiosity.