The Empress of Mars (31 page)

“Would this Mr. Nennius from Jovian Integrated Systems be the same as Mr. Bill Nennius who worked for the BAC?” she demanded.

Mr. De Wit made a face and sank into his seat. “He would. He wasn’t really working for the British Arean Company, however.”

“Oh, no?”

“No. Ms. Griffith . . . you know that I am, unequivocally, on your side. So are a great many other people you have never even met. The British Arean Company was being fatally short-sighted when it shelved its settlement operation here. Its own board of directors may have been blind to that fact, but a number of other corporations on Earth saw the mistake. The . . . larger company of which Polieos and Jovian are subsidiaries has been waiting for its chance to take advantage of the British Arean Company’s error. So . . . Nennius was sent up here to encourage Mr. Rotherhithe to make certain blunders that would make the situation worse.”

“But he was a right bastard!”

Mr. De Wit nodded. “I don’t like him. I don’t like his methods. Call him a corporate saboteur, if you like.”

“He was the one filed all those lawsuits against the clan! It was his fault Perrik went into hiding in the first place!”

“And now Jovian Integrated Systems has the bii technology, instead of British Arean. And the British Arean Company is out of the way. It’s felt Areco will get the terraforming efforts started again. Which is to everyone’s advantage, in the larger scheme of things.”

“But . . . bloody hell! Then he was the one hired those two assassins our Reno caught! We might have all been killed!”

“I’m sure that was Mr. Rotherhithe’s doing,” said Mr. De Wit. “He overreached himself, and see what the result has been? The British Arean Company has gone down in flames, but you’re still here. You’re a rich woman, Ms. Griffith. History is about to move forward on this planet. Do you understand that there are two conflicting economic models here? Think of it as a chess game.”

“And we’re a lot of bleeding pawns, I suppose?”

“No indeed, Mother-in-Law,” said Mr. De Wit, with a little of his smile coming back. “You’re most definitely a queen.
The
queen.”

Mary stared at him, still deeply suspicious. “What about Alice? You marrying her, was that a chess move too?”

Mr. De Wit glanced up at Alice’s loft. “Not at all. That was a happy accident,” he said softly. “Poor Alice. Someday you’ll have to let me take her back to Earth, you know. We can afford it now.”

Mary considered that he had said
we
, and that he was the only man who had ever seemed to make Alice happy. She considered all he had done on her behalf so far. She remembered the look of thorough detestation with which he had regarded Mr. Nennius. Shrugging, she decided she may as well go on trusting him.

“We can think about it, I suppose,” she said.

Two nights later they were, again, all wakened in their beds by the emergency alarm.

Mary heard the shrilling siren in her sleep, and woke to find she had clapped her mask on. She lay there, muscles rigid, waiting for freezing vacuum and oblivion. The siren went on and on, and still Mary was warm and alive and able to breathe. At last she dressed herself, crawled from her loft, and went down to the floor on her line.

She flicked on the lights. Yes, they still had power. She bent over the communications console, aware that behind her Mr. De Wit was coming down, Ottorino coming down, Manco coming down. There was Chiring, too, coming down on his line, dazed and half-dressed but clutching his handcam.

“What is it?” Rowan shouted down from her loft.

“It’s another breach,” said Mary, reading the message on the screen. “We’ll be all right. They’re saying it’s in the Tube. Suspected micrometeorite, puncture at . . . Section Thirty-seven. That’s right down the hill. They have a crew on the way to seal it off now. Easier than patching up where a cow went through! Everyone’s warned to stay inside until they sound the all-clear.”

Chiring suited up and went out anyway, with his handcam. By the
time he returned, all the others had gone back to bed but Mary. She was waiting up for him with a mug of tea. “The
Kathmandu Post
isn’t worth risking your life over, you know, Mr. Skousen,” she said sternly.

“I was all right,” he said, though he looked pale and scared. “First on the scene. The emergency crew hadn’t even arrived yet. Got some good footage of the breach, before they got the vizio replaced. Oh, it was cold down there!” He took the mug gratefully and drank.

“You should have come back sooner,” said Mary.

“I couldn’t,” said Chiring. “I had to make a report. I was the one who found the . . . well, not the bodies, there weren’t any bodies. Except . . .”

“Someone was in the Tubes and got killed?” said Mary, horrified. “Who would have been prowling around in the Tubes in the middle of the night?”

“Two people,” said Chiring. “At least, two pairs of boots. And some socks and some really ugly sandals inside them. And . . . bits of feet.”

“What?”

“It was like a couple of cases of spontaneous combustion,” said Chiring, guiltily fighting the urge to giggle. “As far as we could make out, a micrometeorite came shooting down, punctured the Tube and . . . apparently selectively incinerated these two women, instead of blowing a crater in the mountainside.”

“Women?”

“Or it could have been a couple of men wearing toenail polish,” said Chiring, losing the fight. He had to put down his tea mug to keep from choking as he snickered. “We found one toe wearing Candy Pink, and another one wearing Tangerine Frost.”

Next day the unfortunate demises of Sister Morgan-le-Fay and Sister Lilith were announced. The Heretic vanished for a long while behind the storage crates in the kitchen. Finally Mary went in, pinpointing her location by the sound of the ocular implant.

“It’s come down to killing now,” she said. Out in the common room she heard the lock hiss; someone had come in.

“I didn’t kill anybody!” said the Heretic, from the shadows.

“You didn’t, but your . . . whatever he is, he doesn’t care what he does, does he? And the Church isn’t going to stop coming after you, are they? Next time something worse will happen. Isn’t there anywhere left for you to hide, besides my house?”

“No,” said the Heretic sadly. “Nowhere left to run now.”

Mr. De Wit came to the kitchen door. “Ms. Griffith, there’s a representative from Areco here to speak with you.”

“A who?” Mary turned around, startled. Mr. De Wit licked his dry lips.

“A lawyer,” he said.

And this time it wasn’t Hodges from the British Arean Company. No, this lawyer was a solicitor from London, no less, immaculate in a psuit from Bond Street and his white skullcap of office. He sat poised on the very edge of one of Mary’s settles, listening diffidently as Mr. De Wit (who had gone quite native by now, stooped, wheezing, powdered with red dust, his beard lank with face grease and sand) explained the situation, which was, to wit:

Whereas, the British Arean Company had been liquidated, having operated at an average annual loss to its shareholders of thirteen percent of the original estimated minimum annual profit for a period of five (Earth) calendar years, and

Whereas, the corporate entity hereafter referred to as Areco having been granted transference of all the British Arean Company’s assets, leases and contracts, with the option but not the obligation to honor and/or renew any and all of same, and

Whereas, having reviewed the original Terms of Settlement and Allotment as stated in the Contract for the Settlement and Terraforming of Ares, and having determined that the contractment of any and all allotted agricultural zones was contingent upon said zones contributing
to the common wealth of Mars and the continued profit of its shareholders, and

Whereas, the aforesaid Contract specified that in the event that revocation of a Lease or Allotment was determined to be in the best interests of the shareholders, the Board of Directors retained the right to the exercise of Eminent Domain,

Therefore, Areco respectfully informed Mary Griffith that her lease was revoked and due notice of eviction from all areas of Settlement would follow within thirty (Earth) calendar days. She was, of course, at full liberty to file an appeal with the proper authorities.

“Which you are in the process of doing,” said Mr. De Wit, and picked up a text plaquette from the table. “Here it is. Sign at the bottom.”

“Why should I care?’ said Mary. “Let them take my wretched little allotment. It was never worth spit. If they think they can strip-mine it for diamonds, they’re welcome to try. I’m subleasing a much better one from Clan Morrigan.”

“Can she read?” the solicitor inquired, stifling a yawn. Mary’s lip curled.

“Ten years at Mount Snowdon University says I can, little man,” she informed him.

“Then perhaps you had better read the notice, in fact. The parcels referred to include both your allotment and the land on which this building stands,” he said. “Which is, in fact, part of the original Settlement Base claim as registered with the Tri-Worlds Settlement Bureau on 6 June 2304 (Earth Calendar).
Your
area of claim begins one and three-quarters of a kilometer due west of this parcel.”

“Is he correct?” she asked Mr. De Wit, who nodded.

“What about the Emporium? I
know
that’s on my land!”

“That is correct,” the solicitor admitted. “Areco has no interest in the shop.”

“It had better not. As for this spot, why, I’ll appeal,” said Mary, and thumbprinted the document firmly. “So take that and stick it where appeals are filed, if you please.” She handed the plaquette to the solicitor, who accepted it without comment and put it in his briefcase.

“You will be kept notified of all phases of the appeals process,” he intoned. “Good morning, Ms. Griffith.”

When the lock had closed behind him, Mary said, “So much for Uncle Tars Areco bringing us presents! New flies, same filthy stinking old dog! They can’t do this, can they?”

“Unfortunately, they can,” said Mr. De Wit, slumping onto a bench. “They’re not bound to honor any agreements made with the British Arean Company.”

“Teach me to laugh at somebody else’s funeral. What’s the point of appealing, then?” Mary demanded.

“It will buy you time,” Mr. De Wit replied, raising his exhausted face. “Don’t worry, Mother-in-Law. You’ll weather this storm the way you’ve weathered all the others. You know you have friends.” Alice brought him a mug of hot tea, setting it before him. She began to massage his bowed shoulders.

“Of course,” she said quietly, “we
could
all go home again.”

“This is my home,” said Mary, bridling.

“Well, it isn’t mine,” said Alice defiantly. “And it isn’t Eli’s, either. He’s only staying up here to help you because he’s kind. But we
will
go back to Earth, Mum, and if you want to see your grandchild, you’ll have to go, too.”

“Alice, don’t say that to your mother,” said Mr. De Wit, putting his face in his hands.

Mary looked at her daughter stone-faced.

“So you’re playing that game, are you?”

“I’m not playing any game! I just—”

“Go back to Earth, then. Be happy there, if you’re capable of being happy. Neither you nor anybody else alive will call my bluff,” said Mary, not loudly but in tones that formed ice around the edges of Mr. De Wit’s tea. He groaned.

“I won’t be run off by any corporation! If I have to, I’ll move every stick and stone of mine up the mountain,” Mary said. “The pumping station sits on a fine level plateau. Sit up there too and laugh at them,
so I will, and if they want a beer they’ll have to climb up to my fine new city in—in—”

“Mars Two,” said Mr. De Wit, staring into his tea mug.

Ottorino, when informed, merely smiled. “Of course we’ll move,” he said. “We will make a bigger city. Better. A good place for the baby to be born, don’t you think?”

“Except she won’t be born there,” said Mary sourly. “Alice is taking my grandchild offworld before ever I get a look at her. Tickets are already bought, seemingly.”

“Alice? No.” Ottorino looked around at Rowan. “
Carissima
, you didn’t tell your mother?”

“Tell her what?” Mary demanded, as Rowan rolled her eyes.

“I wanted to wait until things got back to normal,” said Rowan. “But they won’t, now, I suppose. So, yes, Mum, we’re having a baby too.”

“Jackpot!” shrieked Mary, flinging both her fists into the air. She did a wild dance of triumph. “I knew it! You hear that, Alice?” she shouted up to the lofts, where Alice was lying down with a headache. “
Go
back to Earth, then! I’ll still be grandam to the first child born on Mars!”

“I hate you!” Alice called back, but halfheartedly.

In all the excitement, the Brick sat placidly at the counter, eating his Friday Night Special. He finished the Beans, Egg and Chips Spectacular and, when it became apparent that no one was going to bring him his pudding course, took his dirty plate and shambled off to the kitchen himself.

He peered into the darkness. “You in here, darling?”

The Heretic lurched out from behind a cabinet, her ocular replacement whirring. “Sorry! Sorry, Mr. Brick!”

“No worries, m’dear,” he replied, handing her his plate. “Great chips tonight. Gave me a little extra Bisto, did you?”

“I always give extra, for you,” she said.

“That’s my girl. Is that spotted dick on the boiler? Oh, I’d be partial to some of that. That smells a treat.”

“Okay.” The Heretic lifted the pudding from the boiler, turned it out and scooped a liberal helping into a dish. She ladled custard sauce over it and presented it to him, bowing slightly. He reached out his hand and touched her cheek.

“That’s a tear. You been crying back here, eh?”

The Heretic nodded her head.

“You scared?”

The Heretic nodded again, trembling a little. The Brick leaned down and looked into her face. His eyes glowed red in the dark. “Don’t you be scared, now, beautiful,” he said in a low voice. “No, never you fear. You’ve been faithful, and you’ll come to no harm. It’ll all sort itself out. You’ll see. Nobody’s going to take you back to Luna. Not you. Not my girl.”