Martian Knightlife Read online

  Martian Knightlife

  by James P. Hogan

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

  Copyright (c) 2001 by James P. Hogan

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.

  A Baen Books Original

  Baen Publishing Enterprises

  P.O. Box 1403

  Riverdale, NY 10471

  www.baen.com

  ISBN: 0-671-31844-6

  Cover art by Clyde Caldwell

  First printing, October 2001

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Hogan, James P.

  Martian knightlife / by James P. HOgan.

  p. cm.

  "A Baen Books original"—T.p. verso.

  ISBN 0-671-31844-6

  1. Mars (Planet)—Fiction. I. Title.

  PR6058.O348 M3 2001

  823'.914—dc21 2001035799

  Distributed by Simon & Schuster

  1230 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, NY 10020

  Production by Windhaven Press, Auburn, NH

  Printed in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To Jim, Toni, Marla, Hank, Nancy, Morgan, and the rest of the team at Baen Books. It's about time that they, too, got some credit in the final product.

  BAEN BOOKS by JAMES P. HOGAN

  Inherit the Stars

  The Genesis Machine

  The Gentle Giants of Ganymede

  The Two Faces of Tomorrow

  Thrice Upon a Time

  Giants' Star

  Voyage from Yesteryear

  Code of the Lifemaker

  The Proteus Operation

  Endgame Enigma

  The Mirror Maze

  The Infinity Gambit

  Entoverse

  The Multiplex Man

  Realtime Interrupt

  Minds, Machines & Evolution

  The Immortality Option

  Paths to Otherwhere

  Bug Park

  Star Child

  Rockets, Redheads & Revolution

  Cradle of Saturn

  The Legend That Was Earth

  Martian Knightlife

  HIS OWN WORST ENEMY

  1

  Consciousness reintegrated slowly out of fragments, like the threads of a frayed rope coming together. Sarda felt dizzy and disoriented in the darkness—the nauseous sensation of spinning in a void with no reference point. It passed quickly. Thoughts meshed raggedly and began running again. Physically, he seemed to be intact and functioning. He registered the thumping of his heartbeats, chest panting, skin wet and clammy. His body was ridding itself of excess heat, not working to build up heat from cold. So the crucial experiment had worked perfectly. . . .

  Except that he was the wrong one!

  His mind recoiled in protest as images returned of the resigned look on Elaine's face when he last saw her, and Balmer reassuring them that everything would be fine.

  They were going to rob him, sell out his work—and that would be fine?

  Rage and panic overcame him. He tried to struggle, but it was useless against the restraints protecting the equipment inside the reconstitution chamber. Light came on, revealing the planes of densely packed condenser arrays and indexing heads positioned all around and above him like slabs of venetian blind woven with multicolored wires and tubing. The panels in front retracted back from their operating positions to clear the access door, the inside of which carried its own growth of wires and mechanisms, along with a number of technical labels and warning signs. Included among them was a curiously vivid graphic design in the form of a purple disk inside a silver outer ring, containing a spiral pattern of red, yellow, and aquamarine. It seemed to grow in Sarda's vision, drawing his attention like field lines to a charge. In seconds his agitation subsided. He forgot all of his outrages. Latches released in a series of clacks, and the door opened.

  Stewart Perrel, chief physician on the TX Project, leaned into the chamber, his face anxious. A light shone into Sarda's eyes, while a hand lifted his chin, and fingers felt for a pulse at his neck. "It's okay, Stew. You don't need to bother," Sarda said. "I feel fine."

  "He's okay!" Perrel threw over his shoulder to others behind. "It worked fine! Leo's okay!"

  Whoops of relief and delight greeted the words. Perrel unfastened the restraints and then draped a surgical gown over Sarda's head, helping him work it down to cover his body in the cramped space of the chamber. The mixed company of project crew and technicians waiting outside crowded forward to press him with backslaps and handshakes as Sarda emerged into the clutter of the R-Lab. After the sweltering confines of the machine, he felt as if he were coming out of a sauna into clean, snowy air.

  The expressions of the two men watching from farther back with the small group of specially invited visitors were more restrained, but their eyes had a jubilant look. Their loose, dark jackets, worn tieless with polo-neck shirts, were the closest to business dress likely to be found on Mars, even in Lowell City, generally considered to be the main metropolis. The broad, balding form of Herbert Morch, Quantonix's managing director and technical head of the TX Project, moved forward to grip Sarda by both shoulders as he approached, his fleshy face breaking into a smile. "Leo, today we've made history!" he exulted. "No, you've made history! You took the risk. It succeeded. . . ." He shook his head, momentarily unable to find further words.

  Beside him, his brother Max, lean and gaunt-faced, cofounder and financial vice president, reached out to add his own bony handshake to those Sarda had already collected. "You'd better get used to the idea of being a celebrity before much longer, Leo," he said. "Quantonix is going to change the world."

  "The world?" Herbert turned his head quizzically, looking at him with mild reproach. "Think big, Max, think big. That's what this has been all about, hasn't it? We're going to reshape the Solar System!"

  2

  The last time Kieran Thane was on Mars, he had come posing as a green arrival from Earth, interested in land parcels in the Elysium region that an aggressive marketing company was pushing to young immigrants flush with hard-earned savings. Some suspicious relatives had engaged him to look into the claims of mineral rights potential that would pay back the investment many times over in years to come. The values had turned out to be artificially inflated, based on fraudulent reports by a geological consultant who was in on the deal. Kieran had contrived to salt some of the company's more recent drilling samples with platinum, hence bringing things to the satisfying conclusion of watching the marketeers pursue their customers in order to buy back the tracts at several times what had been paid.

  That had been a little over half a year ago (mean standard year, equal to one Terran year). The surface had sprouted visible changes, even since then. Kieran studied them in the view being presented on the cabin display screen of the shuttle descending from Phobos, the inner of Mars's two moons—itself transformed from the cratered knob of rock that astronomers had once described as a "diseased potato" into a gleaming composition of domes, berthing structures, and metallic geometry as the main transfer port for long-range vessels from Earth, the various Belt habitats, the Jovian system, and beyond. The area creeping onto the screen as the planetary outline expanded off the edges was the Tharsis end of the vast system of gorges and canyons flanking the three-thousand-mile equatorial rift of Valles Marineris—three hundred miles wide in places and up to four miles deep. Domes had appeared over more of the craters, enclosing circular cities or orchard farms, with their tiers of housing climbing inner walls reminiscent of steep Mediterranean shor
elines; more vehicles dotted the highway west to the mine workings below 50,000-foot-high Arsia Mons; and what looked like a new rail link, already flanked by new excavations and greenhouse constructions, extended southeastward in the direction of Syria Planum and Solis Planum. In the canyon complex itself, a frost of silver and white beads was spreading between the roofed-over parts of the shadowy depths and across the ramparts of crumbling orange rock separating them.

  In a seat opposite, Ibrahim, one of the Iranian couple that Kieran had met in the transfer port on Phobos, squeezed his young wife's hand as they gazed down at the scene. They had just arrived from Earth, he a plant geneticist, she a teacher. Kieran shifted his eyes from the screen and grinned across at them. "I suppose all the sand down there could make it feel something like home. A bit short on beaches, though, I'm afraid."

  "Give us time, Mr. Thane. Give us time," Ibrahim answered.

  "And in any case, this is home now," Khalia said.

  Such were the kind of spirits that Mars was drawing away from Earth. That was what new worlds and new visions were built from, Kieran told himself.

  The shuttle came out of its aerobraking trajectory to enter the final, vertical phase of its descent, and the view stabilized on the jumble of interconnecting domes, roofs, and terraces that formed Lowell, filling the intersection of two canyons and resurfacing on the overlooking heights as clusters of buildings and roadways that looked from altitude like lichen mottling the pink-orange landscape. As these surroundings in turn expanded beyond the edges of the screen, the view centered on the spaceport of Cherbourg, perched on the open plateau north of the main valley. The scene gradually resolved into domes, service gantries, and turrets bristling with antenna arrays, and then closed on the landing bay, its covering doors open. There was a glimpse of metal-railed access levels bright with lights, umbilical booms and hoses swung back to admit the shuttle, and then the rest was blotted out by braking exhaust. The ship bounced mildly as the landing-leg shock absorbers disposed of the remaining momentum, and the engines cut. They were on Mars.

  Life returned to the cabin with an outbreak of murmuring and a few strained laughs to relieve the tension that had taken hold. After several minutes' wait, an announcement cleared the occupants to disembark. Kieran collected the jacket, briefcase, and carry-on bag that he had stowed, and moved nearer to a burly, red-bearded figure in a dark parka who was closing a duffel bag resting on one of the seat arms. He was a construction foreman who had just arrived from Earth on the same transporter as the Iranians.

  "Good luck, Serge. Who knows, I might bump into you again out there one day. Let's hope your plans work out." Wages on Mars were up to ten times the rate back home for comparable skills, which with bonuses could enable a man to retire after a reasonably short stint, or alternatively make enough to bring a whole extended family out.

  "You too, Knight," Serge grunted.

  "Will you guys be staying together from here?" Kieran nodded past Serge to indicate the three others traveling with him.

  "Yep. We're all on the same contract."

  Kieran moved a pace closer to press something into Serge's hand. His voice dropped. "Let them have this back when you get a chance."

  Serge glanced down to find himself holding a folded wad of several hundred-dollar bills in U.S. currency. "What's this?" he muttered. "You don't owe anything back." It was the winnings that Kieran had relieved the four of them of in a poker game during the eight-hour wait on Phobos.

  "Sure I do." Kieran kept his voice low. "Nobody has that kind of luck. I was robbing you under your noses. Learn to look out for yourselves here. There are a lot of people around who'll take your shirt if you let them."

  "Are you telling me you're a card sharp too?"

  "Let's just say I have a lot of hobbies and amusements."

  "Thanks. I appreciate it. They will too." Serge punched Kieran softly on the shoulder by way of acknowledgment. They moved to follow the other passengers, shuffling slowly toward the exit.

  * * *

  The port too had grown and gained more facilities, Kieran noted as he sauntered down the stairs from Arrivals, ignoring the escalator and elevators—the thirty-eight percent normal gravity and enclosed living meant that people generally took all the exercise they could get. The signs and animated maps indicated that three more launch bays had been added to the complex, one of them still to become operational. A wide, white-tiled corridor that hadn't been there before led from the mid-level concourse to an equally new hotel called the Oasis—apt enough in a heavy-footed kind of way that went with marketing mindsets, Kieran supposed. And, this being Mars, of course there were storefronts and stalls, robot hucksters, and ad displays placed to catch new arrivals straight off the ship, offering currency exchange, accommodation and real estate, vehicles and surface gear, drugs and narcotics, and all manner of human services ranging from legal representation and insurance to sex partners and tour guides. They also bought electronics, optronics, holovids, and other technologies in high demand from Earth or the lunar concessions. For those used to the effects of controls and regulations back home the rates looked unbeatable, and everyone parted happy.

  Kieran stopped to scan over the shelves of a candy kiosk and bought a pack of beef jerky before continuing on down to the Freight and Baggage level. He found the office of Two Moons Shuttle Lines ("And Anywhere in Orbit")—enlarged and moved from its former cubbyhole to a new, more prominent position facing out across the floor—and arranged for his checked bags from Phobos to be forwarded c/o Ms. June Holland, No. 357 Park View Apartments, Nineveh. That taken care of, a clerk directed him to the counter where animals, wheelchairs, bicycles, dune hoppers, and anything else in need of special handling were claimed.

  Guinness was waiting patiently in one of the company-provided shipping cages, enjoying the attentions of an admiring female Asian counter agent and one of the baggage handlers from behind the scenes. The dog sprang to alertness as his radar picked up Kieran's approach, tongue lolling from a strong mouth, tail thumping against the cage's wire sides. He was mostly black, with tan flashes at the chest and chin, and had a long, broody face with floppy ears.

  "Is he yours?" the girl asked Kieran, as if there could have been any doubt.

  "That's some intelligent dog," the baggage handler complimented. "I swear he understands everything we say."

  "Actually, he's really not that smart," Kieran said. "Languages confuse him. He does it by telepathy." Guinness's brow knitted. He blinked and turned his eyes toward the spaceport workers as if in silent appeal.

  "What is he?" the girl asked as Kieran presented the claim document and a card to verify receipt.

  "Part doberman, part labrador. The doberman came out in the coloring. The face and the temperament are all lab." Kieran took the leash from a pouch in his bag and stooped to unlatch the cage door. Guinness bounded out and treated him to a slurp of affection across the nose before Kieran diverted him with a strip of beef jerky from his jacket pocket.

  "Guinness," the handler read from the transaction details that appeared on the screen, while the girl ruffled the dog's ears. "Are you Irish?"

  "Oh, there's some lurking back in the ancestry somewhere, sure enough. But with a color scheme like that, what else could you call him in any case?"

  "The trip doesn't seem to have bothered him the way it can some animals," the girl said. "Did you come in on the Earth ship?"

  "No. From Urbek Station, near side of the Belt. Before that, places around Jupiter. But he's used to all that." Kieran scratched the center of Guinness's forehead. "Aren't you, boy, eh?"

  The girl studied Kieran: tall, broad and powerfully built, with lean, tanned features, wavy brown hair, clear blue eyes, and a smile that came easily. His clothes were casual for traveling, but good quality. "Do you two travel around a lot, then?" she asked.

  Guinness looked at Kieran expectantly. The jerky was gone. Kieran tossed another piece, which the dog caught expertly. "We get around, sure. There's a lot o
ut there to see. I've always been insatiably curious."

  "So where's home?"

  "Oh, a place here, a place there. Maybe I'll check out some possibilities on Mars while I'm here. It's getting more interesting. I suppose you could say the Solar System is home now."

  * * *

  Two levels farther down, a maglev car riding the field trough between two induction rails carried them from the subterranean part of the spaceport, out from beneath the plateau and into Gorky Avenue, one of the three main canyon-bottom arms of Lowell City. The surroundings resembled a curious mixture of multilevel mall, residential units, and recreation spots spread through a confusion of interconnecting spaces separated by normally-open pressure locks. From a grotto of rocks and palm fronds forming a ledge below several rows of office windows, a man-made waterfall cascaded between a restaurant terrace and a children's play area to an artificial beach washed by breakers from a mechanical wave maker. Farther on, the track ran above a sinuous lake with leafy banks and reedy shallows, winding its way around sandbars where wading birds preened beneath steel piers supporting the upper structure. Guinness stood with his front paws up on the window ledge, missing nothing. Everywhere was busy, colorful and vibrant with people—an expression of the thrusting, restless culture that had taken root in and was now rising from the red sands. Yes, Kieran told himself. The time was about right here for a little real-estate investment to tie up some surplus funds.

  On the far side of Gorky, the track entered another tunnel to pass through concrete galleries excavated under the mesa, filled with plant and machinery, before exiting into Nineveh, beyond—the other arm of the branching Y of canyons containing Lowell. Nineveh was greener and more suburban than the metropolitan setting they had left in Gorky. Algae cultivated in the aquatic radiation shield between the outer layers of the domes and roofing gave its sky a peculiar pale-lime color. Prospect Park lay out toward the end of the roofed-over section, ending at the access lock out to the surface. It contained flower and plant nurseries as well as irrigated slopes of grass with a few trees, and was also a zoo. Near its center was a crescent-shaped lake with an island in the widest part. Opposite the island on the outer curve of the lake, a complex of apartment units rising in terraces overlooked a bathing area next to a parking strip for regular road vehicles. Here, the maglev car halted by an automated cafeteria and shop.