Mission Mars (4 page)

Life inside the habitat proved remarkably calm. That's not to say there weren't disagreements, a few of which progressed to heated arguments. But the combination of rigorous screening and intense training seemed to have paid off. With the lockdown due to end in a month's time, nothing had occurred that remotely jeopardized the success of the mission.

Marta was late for dinner, and it was Devon's night to play host. He commandeered Alex to help ferry our dinner to his berth, which left me to investigate her absence. Something for which I will always be thankful.

She didn't answer her comlink and wasn't in her berth. The Med-Tech on duty at the infirmary confirmed she'd left at the end of her shift. By then, I was more than a little miffed, but was reluctant to tell Alex I couldn't find her.

I traced the path from her place to Devon's without success. No one I spoke to had seen her. Next, I tried the route she would've taken from the infirmary to her berth. Thinking back, I'm not sure what made me decide to check the toilet. I'd passed two others without giving them a second glance.

Marta sat propped up against the far wall, her head
slumped forward on her chest. The braid she kept pinned up in a bun while on duty hung over her left shoulder. At first I didn't notice the blood that soaked into her scrub suit turning the ocean blue to a deep purple. Or the knife. Both were partially obscured by her fingers. I was told later that I didn't scream, but only yelled for help. Maybe so, but it didn't feel that way.

A crewmember I recognized from our trip through the airlock was the first to arrive. She pushed through the door, took one look at Marta, and summoned help with her comlink. I remember walking, squatting, and reaching for Marta's hand. The rest was a blur of voices, hands, and faces as I was restrained and forcibly, but not unkindly, removed to an office in the crew section of the habitat.

I'd already told my story several times before Captain Larkin arrived. His presence caused the room to feel even more claustrophobic. A shuffling of bodies ensued while he took the chair behind the desk. He spoke with far more sympathy than I expected. “We all feel the loss of a member of our community, but I understand Marta Jefferies was a close friend of yours.”

I nodded, tears filling my eyes.

“Tell me how you came to find her.”

It was an order—not a request—but his demeanor erased any reluctance to comply. Feeling surreal, I described my search for Marta, half expecting the ending of the story to change for the better now that he had taken charge. The shock of his words disabused me of that conceit.

“Vids from the hallway confirm your account. The timing of your entry into the room makes it clear you weren't involved
in Ms. Jefferies's death. Are you aware of any reason she might have wished to take her own life?”

Shocked, I didn't bother to conceal my fury. “Marta didn't commit suicide.”

A staring match ensued over the next few moments. I wasn't the one who lost. “No one went into the room between the time Ms. Jefferies entered and your arrival fifty minutes later.”

“That's impossible.” This time I was the one who looked away first.

“The hallways are monitored, but due to privacy concerns, there are no cameras in the toilet. This leaves us with the obvious conclusion.”

Devon and I spent the night with Alex. Sometime around two in the morning I fell asleep on the sofa, listening to the quiet murmur of their voices. The dream that awakened me several hours later was not so much a nightmare as a communing with the dead. Marta hadn't killed herself—of that, I was certain. I knew how her murder had been accomplished. The questions were: who wielded the knife, and why? Those were the mysteries I was determined to solve.

The next morning we gathered at the table with cups of coffee. “It's obvious her killer entered and left through the access panel,” I said. “Where does that chase connect?”

Alex pointed to a rectangle on the habitat schematics. “The maintenance facility on J Corridor.”

As well as providing storage for cleaning equipment, it served as the main laundry for the colony. The news could be
worse, but not by much. “Dozens of people are in and out of there all day long.”

“The time frame is pretty narrow though,” Devon said. “We need to get them to look at the vids.”

“And then what?” Alex said. “We can't accuse someone of murder just because they were in the room.”

“No, but it's a start.” Alex's arm felt clammy under my fingers. “We're going to find the person who killed her. Now help me figure out why.”

Getting past the guardians of the gate proved harder than I imagined. By the time I gained access to Captain Larkin's office, I was well aware my intrusion was unwelcome. It seemed that colony leaders had closed ranks with senior crew in supporting a verdict of suicide. Without interruption, the captain let me finish the story of how I'd found the connecting panels as well as my theory of Marta's murder. My admiration for the man further increased when he asked the obvious question.

“What would be the motive for killing a young woman, who, by all accounts, had harmed no one?”

“For starters, sir, a month from now, we're due to take our place on one of the first three ships to launch for Mars. Most of the colonists will balk at the idea of making the journey with a murderer in their midst. And, I don't think MarsCorp will allow it.”

His furious expression was more than a little frightening. “You think I would rule her death a suicide to keep the colony intact?”

“I think the person who killed Marta never intended her death to be ruled a suicide. If it is, he may kill again to achieve his objective. Presented with two brutal murders and no suspects, there'll be no way to solve the crimes in time, and our colony will be eliminated from the first wave. Who will take our place if that happens?”

Seconds, which felt like hours, passed before he spoke. “I'll review the vids from the laundry. I can't promise it will change the verdict, but I guarantee your concerns will receive a fair hearing.”

Brent Haley was a ten-year veteran of the NASA Astronaut Corps. His trial was conducted a week before the end of lockdown. He'd been hired to volunteer for a posting to our crew and eliminate our group from competition for the first wave. His employer wasn't concerned about method, only results.

The jury was composed of four crew and three members of the colony chosen by a random draw. The testimony was brief. The vid from the laundry placed Haley near the access panel during the relevant time frame. A forensic exam found traces of Marta's DNA on clothing he thought he'd sterilized. Faced with the evidence, Haley had confessed. The jury voted on sentencing immediately after rendering the verdict. The pronouncement of the death sentence brought startled exclamations from every quarter of the room. The civilian members of the jury appeared as shocked as Haley. The death penalty had been abolished in the Americas decades ago.

Alex, Devon, and I filed from the room in silence, tuning out the conversations around us. We'd known the outcome. Captain Larkin had made it clear that he intended to handle Marta's murder just as he would if it had occurred after launch. Breaking quarantine to put Haley off the ship would've eliminated our colony from the first wave. Allowing him to remain with the crew was intolerable. Neither of which the captain was willing to do.

We were reluctant to leave Alex alone, but he insisted he needed time to himself. Devon and I wandered the corridors, finally coming to rest on a bench in the hydroponic gardens. The inches that separated us felt like a mile. After months of deepening friendship and obvious sexual attraction, Devon was still wary of touching me.

I'd set out to expose Marta's killer, but couldn't reconcile myself to the consequences. “I thought you'd be the last person who'd agree with Captain Larkin,” I said.

“It's not so much that I agree. But I understand the necessity.”

“He apparently believes we all will.”

“Like he said the first day: ‘this isn't a democracy'.”

“So, we just look the other way while he puts Haley to death? It's barbaric. Civilized people don't answer one murder with another. I can't believe MarsCorp will go along with it.”

“MarsCorp isn't about to argue the brutality of their captain's decision if it means losing their place in the queue. Besides, the backers of the first three colonies will
have a tremendous advantage in the race for profits.”

“Spoken like a true pragmatist.” I immediately regretted both the words and the snide tone.

But instead of the hurt look I expected, I got raised eyebrows and the beginnings of a smile. “I wouldn't have made it past the first psych screen if I weren't, and neither would you. We're smart, tough, resilient, and adaptable. Your parents were picked to join the colony for their knowledge and skills. Who we are and what we can become earned us our shot at Mars.”

Devon reached his arm around me and hugged me close, pulling my head against his shoulder. “For those of us in the first wave, by civilized standards, conditions on Mars will be brutal. Marta was the first, but she won't be the last of us to die before our time. Pioneers have never had the luxury of avoiding hard choices.”

I couldn't stop the tears that dripped down my cheeks. “I thought we'd bring civilization with us, not leave it behind.”

“It'll come. But it will take a while to catch up.”

The smell of Dinuguan—pork blood stew—meant only one thing in my home: Grandmother had news she was dreading to tell me. The last time she served it, Uncle had beat up a Genserv in front of the U.N. building at Kan Loan. And now, the cost of pig stomach had tripled. Plus, Grandfather avoided looking at me, too. So, I knew it was something big.

A Genserv11a, the latest improvement of modified servants—half human, half machine—appeared, filling up the screen of our GNT—our Global Network Terminal. Thomas King was his name, the government representative for Calle Quarta, a two-block square of apartments. King's face appeared soft and slightly radiant, a mesh of skin and circuit, an opaque white. Just like all engineered Genservs, he'd been designed to appear similar to their makers, the Enhanced Ones, for likeability and trustworthiness. A mandatory visit was what the message said.