Labyrinth of Night (15 page)

Kawakami leaned back in his chair and checked his wrist-watch. ‘Ummm…about an hour and a half ago.’ He smiled. ‘I thought I heard someone pounding on the hatch, but I can’t be sure.’

Johnson shook his head mournfully. ‘It’s terrible how the handle jams sometimes.’ His brief grin disappeared as he turned to look around at the others. ‘Gentlemen, lady, I think we’ve reached the moment of decision. All in favor, please signify by raising your hands.’

Johnson put up his own hand. Kawakami and Verduin immediately followed suit. After a moment Kulejan and Isralilova reluctantly put up their hands as well. Johnson nodded his head. ‘I discussed this with Miho about two hours ago. She’s still wrapping up things in the Labyrinth, but she added her affirmative vote
in absentia,
so I guess it’s unanimous. Tamara, if you’ll please go rescue the unfortunate Dr. Jessup? Sorry. I don’t think I should be the first person to see him just now.’

Isralilova squeezed past the men to leave the crowded module. As she did so, Paul Verduin touched a couple of keys on his board, waited a few moments, then removed two CD-ROM disks from slots in his console. He solemnly handed them to Arthur Johnson. ‘Audiovisual record is on One, sensor scan and mission history is on Two,’ he said. ‘I made backups about an hour ago, but this is the complete record.’ He thought for a moment. ‘The pilot, captain D’Agostino. Is he…?’

Johnson smiled. ‘Disarmed. He had a pistol as a side-arm, but it made a disappearance while he was sleeping off his hangover. Since his craft is out of fuel, he won’t be able to take it aloft. I think Katsu’s out there now, making some more permanent changes.’ He chuckled and shook his head. ‘He and Boggs have been bitching about not having enough spare parts for the
Burroughs,
so I guess they’re getting them now.’

Kawakami still looked worried. ‘Richard might still try to get the captain to intercede.’

‘We’ll have to take that chance,’ Arthur said. ‘But at least he’s outnumbered. One combat-trained Marine against a half-dozen wimpy scientists…?’ He shrugged. ‘Well, if it gets too serious, we can always knock him over the head and threaten to toss him out the airlock. My bet is that he gets a ride back to the
Shinseiki
when the lander takes off again.’

Verduin was looking at the CD-ROMs in Johnson’s hands. ‘Don’t worry, Paul. They’re in good hands.’ Johnson slipped the two silver disks into his shirt pocket and zipped it shut, then took a deep breath. ‘Okay, people, let’s shut it down. Paul and Shin-ichi, remember to erase everything from the memory. Leave nothing they can use.’

‘What are you…?’ Cassidy began.

Johnson held up a finger. ‘Wait. Just wait.’

Around them, the scientists were busily working their keyboards. One by one, the TV and computer screens blinked out as the electronic hum of computer drives grunted and died. All the equipment that had recorded every hard-fought inch of the journey through the Labyrinth slowly died. Within a minute, Module Eight was completely silent. All the instruments were dead, the screens completely dark.

Johnson let out his breath. ‘I never thought it could get so quiet in here.’ He put his hand on Kawakami’s shoulder. ‘Any second thoughts, Kawakami-san?’

The exobiologist was staring at a blank screen. After a moment, he shook his head. ‘It’s the only way,’ he said. He touched his upper lip meditatively. ‘Wasn’t there something one of your founding fathers said about hanging together or hanging separately?’

When Jessup entered the control module a few moments later, the first thing he noticed was the inactivity. His eyes roved over dead consoles, then focused on the science team, who in turn were silently watching him. ‘If this is what I think it is,’ he said evenly, ‘you’re all making a grave mistake.’

Arthur Johnson shook his head. ‘No, we don’t believe so. This is a strike, Dick. Maybe you could call it a revolution. Everybody here is in on it, and nothing gets done until our non-negotiable demands are met.’

‘Hmm.’ Jessup folded his arms across his chest. ‘Okay. I’ll listen. What are your demands?’

‘First, the United States and the Commonwealth of Independent States will issue formal apologies to each other for their military actions here. Second, the CIS will allow its members of the science team to continue their work here. Third, the participating nations must promise not to allow any more military personnel or equipment on Mars.’ Johnson held up his hands. ‘That’s all.’

‘That’s all.’ Dick Jessup sighed. ‘Well, I’ll communicate your stipulations to the President, but you know you won’t get anywhere with this. All they have to do is send another science team here. They’ll continue the work and your careers will be down the tube.’

Paul Verduin coughed. ‘That will be difficult to do,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ve taken the liberty of erasing the memory of the hard drives. The data has been relocated to another place where they cannot find it…’

‘What?’

‘And it will be destroyed unless all of our demands are made public and satisfied,’ Johnson finished. ‘If a new team was sent here, they would have to recreate almost two years of research from scratch. I don’t think the Cooties are going to wait that long.’

Jessup stared disbelievingly at Johnson. ‘What about the Cooties? What’s going on?’ Then, for the first time since entering the module, he seemed to notice Ben Cassidy. ‘What happened down there?’

‘Room C4-20 has been solved,’ Kawakami said. ‘Mr Cassidy here has managed to convince the Cooties that we’re a sapient, creative race. That was what the Labyrinth was ultimately designed to prove. It was a mechanism to determine not only whether we were technologically advanced, but also creatively advanced. For what purpose, we don’t yet know…but I doubt they will be patient much longer. Already their robots are working down there.’

Jessup scowled at Kawakami. ‘Robots? As in automechanisms?’

‘Activated when C4-20 was given enough proof of our intelligence. We were looking at this entirely the wrong way. The Cooties already had enough evidence of our empirical knowledge. This time, they wanted assurance that we weren’t just problem-solvers.’ Kawakami smiled. ‘Now they’re tearing down the last walls.’

‘Then why…?’

‘Why were we lured here? Why did they create this series of tests? What did they expect to gain from a complex game which was apparently meant to begin long after they were dead?’ Kawakami closed his eyes and slowly shook his head. ‘I have no idea. Try to understand, Richard, that we’re attempting to comprehend a completely alien perspective, and there are very few clues. There are no easy answers, and what we believe we’ve learned is perhaps only guesswork. Nevertheless, this is the first step to finding the answers.’

Kawakami reflexively began to yawn; he covered his mouth to stifle the impulse. ‘The essential fact is this, Dr. Jessup…we were meant to be here for a deliberate reason. We don’t know what it is, or what they expected to gain from our presence on Mars. At least, not yet…but the first layer of the mystery has been peeled away.’

He stared directly at Jessup. ‘Beyond the Labyrinth,’ he said, ‘is yet another labyrinth. At least, that is the way it now seems. The question is, will you let us continue?’

‘Will I…?’ Jessup began.

‘They’re waiting for us,’ Johnson said. ‘The door is wide open. But we’re not going to do a thing about it if the boys in Washington and Minsk continue to act like children. We’ve decided that we’re not going to allow the Cooties to become part of your little scuffle, and that’s what the strike is about.’

Jessup turned to glare at him. ‘Your work can be continued by another expedition.’

Johnson shrugged. ‘Maybe so, but how long will that take if we destroy our research? Two, three years. I have a gut feeling that the Cooties are not going to wait much longer.’

The NASA administrator was quiet for another moment. ‘Forget it, Art,’ he said at last. ‘It won’t work. The
Shinseiki’s
still in orbit, and we’ve still got men aboard. Play rough if you want, but we can stage another attack whenever we want…’

Cassidy had been silent throughout the conversation. Indeed, it suddenly occurred to him, he had been aloof for far too long. He cleared his throat and took a step forward, entering the circle for the first time. ‘He’s still lying, guys.’

Dick Jessup turned around and thrust a finger in his face. ‘You stay out of this!’ he snapped. ‘This is none of your goddamn business!’

Cassidy looked straight at Jessup as he continued. ‘There’s one military guy, a Marine colonel, still on the
Shinseiki.
So far as I know, there’s no more attack fighters left. They blew the whole wad when they took out the Bushmasters. Besides the command crew, all that’s left up there is one rear-echelon motherfucker. He can’t do a thing.’

The science team was watching Jessup again. The truth was finally coming out; his aces were all used up, his lies were finally exhausted. ‘Maybe,’ he said, his voice quavering. ‘He could be right, maybe. But what happens when the
Lowell
gets here in nine months? You think there’s not going to be another strike team on that ship?’

Johnson looked indifferent. ‘That’s always a possibility. So what? What’s to stop us from destroying the data when they show up? Doesn’t help them a bit. Even in the worst-case scenario, they’ve got a bunch of dead renegades and nothing to show for it. Everything’s lost for good…plus, they’ve got to answer to the world for a massacre.’ He smiled again. ‘Nobody wins. Somehow, I don’t think even George White could be that stupid.’

‘Face it, Dick,’ Cassidy said benignly. ‘It’s time to grow up. You can stop playing your game of beat-the-Russkies now.’

Jessup’s temper, held in check for so long, finally blew. ‘I thought I told you to shut up, you goddamn junkie!’ he shouted at Cassidy.

Cassidy stared back at Jessup. Behind Jessup, Johnson smiled softly and nodded his head. Without thinking twice, Cassidy balled up his fist and slugged Jessup with a fast, hard hook to the jaw.

The NASA administrator toppled backwards, fell over a chair, and crashed to the floor. ‘On second thought,’ Cassidy said, massaging his knuckles, ‘sometimes it’s satisfying to be immature.’

He turned and walked out of the module. Johnson looked down at Jessup, who was wiping blood from the corner of his mouth and beginning to rise from the floor. No one moved to help him get up. ‘I’ll take back command of this base now, if you don’t mind,’ Johnson said quietly. ‘The lander will be launching at thirteen-hundred hours. I trust that you and captain D’Agostino will be on it. This meeting is adjourned.’

Johnson left the compartment and took a deep breath, then walked down the corridor to the wardroom. The hatch was open. Cassidy was there, gazing out the narrow window at the red terrain. Beyond the window lay the City; looming in the foreground was the C-4 Pyramid, arched high against the noonday sky.

The astrophysicist softly padded into the wardroom, then stopped. Although Cassidy’s back was turned to him, he could hear the musician whispering something to himself. Johnson listened; no, not whispering. Singing…

‘Early this mornin’…when you knocked on my door…’

Cassidy stopped abruptly, as if he subliminally detected another presence in the module, yet he said nothing as he continued to stare out the window. Johnson cleared his throat slightly. ‘Ben Cassidy, two-fisted guitarist,’ he said, walking up behind the musician. ‘Nice hook you got there. How’s your hand?’

Cassidy shrugged, not turning around. ‘Bruised, but it should heal by the time I do my next gig. Probably in a federal prison.’

The station co-supervisor joined him at the window. ‘Naw, Dick won’t do anything like that. It’ll mean admitting that he was beaten up by a liberal. I just wouldn’t turn your back on him between now and the time you get to Earth.’

He followed Cassidy’s gaze out the window. ‘The lander to the
Shinseiki
takes off in about two hours. Think you’re going to miss this place?’

‘Hell, no. I can’t wait to go home.’ Cassidy paused. ‘But I might miss the Cooties. They were good to jam with. Can you give me a tape of that performance?’

Johnson thought it over. ‘Sorry. Maybe in ten years, but not now. It’s too sensitive.’

‘S’okay. Sometimes the best concerts never get heard but once,’ Cassidy hesitated. ‘Do you really think this strike of yours is going to work?’

‘Maybe so, maybe not. But it’ll put all the jerks back there on notice that we’re not going to take it any more. Perhaps that’s all that really counts. Don’t worry about us.’

Cassidy snickered. ‘I won’t…well, maybe I will.’

‘How are you doing?’

Ben Cassidy gazed out at the barren landscape, looking away from the dead city. In the far distance on the horizon, the ruined profile of the Face stared up into space. Serenity in ancient stone. Serenity in his own mind. For the first time in years, the fear and the cravings were gone.

‘How am I doing?’ Cassidy closed his eyes and rested his chin on his arms.

After a while he smiled. ‘I feel a whole lot better,’ he said.

‘S
PYING, TO A GREATER EXTENT
than at any time in the past century, will be pressed into service in support not only of government objectives but of corporate strategy as well, on the assumption that corporate power will necessarily contribute to national power. The entire armamentarium of electronic surveillance may be pressed into commercial service, along with armies of trained human operatives…’

Alvin Toffler

Powershift
(1990)

A
NTI-SPACE DEMONSTRATORS
had defaced a signboard on the Red Line platform of the Dupont Circle Metro station; August Nash noticed it as he stepped off the tram and into the crowd of morning commuters. The hologram, just above a bench now occupied by a couple of Georgetown University freshmen, displayed an ad for
Newsweek.
Pictured was a photo of the Face; the ad copy proclaimed the magazine to be ‘not just another pretty face’ or somesuch wordplay, but the misspelled message which had been spray-painted in a red swathe across the transparent frame was much more direct: