Exiles of Titan- The Martian Phase Read online

  Chayka could happily have dispensed with the short stopover on Mars. However, the ship had to call there anyway in order to drop off the two scientists and the Bureau psychologists felt that a break would be good for the members of his team, who were all very keen to set foot on the fabled Red Planet. He wondered once again how such a dismal place could be so evocative for so many of his fellow human beings. No matter how he tried he simply couldn’t understand the attraction. His attention drifted back to the blackness and he shivered as his private demons rose up once more.

  He forced himself to move on from the memories of the taunts and beatings to thoughts to happier times – to the presentation of the Nobel Prize and the adulation that followed. The icing on the cake had been the offer of the Lucasian Professorship of Mathematics at Cambridge University, one of the most prestigious in the world, having been previously occupied by such luminaries as Stephen Hawking and Isaac Newton himself. Chayka had accepted with alacrity and, in the years that followed, had worked happily within the confines of the university. Indeed, he would probably still have been there but for the sequence of events that would change his life forever.

  Chayka’s reverie was abruptly interrupted by the door to the passenger lounge crashing open. He turned irritably to see who had disturbed him and was confronted by one of the crew. The man was considerably worse for wear after a heavy drinking session and had clearly taken a wrong turn. He cast bleary eyes round the room trying to work out where he was before turning and crashing back though the door without so much as an apology. The effects of alcohol couldn’t have been more vividly illustrated.

  Chayka tried to resume his contemplation but the interruption had broken the mood and left him feeling restless and unsettled. He made himself another hot chocolate in the small kitchenette and stretched his legs, sipping the hot beverage while he wandered round the lounge. Then, he seated himself by the view-screen again, activated his wrist console, and settled down to work. Two hours passed before he finally rubbed his eyes, turned off his wrist console, and made his way to his cabin.

  §

  Later that morning Chayka awoke at his accustomed time, ship’s time 06.30, and made his way to the refectory for a sparse breakfast of muesli and black coffee. He was fastidious about what he ate, refusing to subject his body to the toxic input enjoyed by most of his colleagues and maintaining a strict vegetarian diet with no external stimulants – except coffee, which was his one indulgence.

  Philippe Fournier was the only other person having breakfast at this relatively early hour and was studying his wrist console intently, occasionally taking a bite of croissant or a sip of espresso. He was so engrossed in his work he failed to notice Chayka when the professor collected his breakfast and settled himself at his usual table in the far corner of the room. However, when Chayka activated his wrist console the slight noise must have penetrated his concentration. He glanced up and, seeing the professor, left the remains of his breakfast and walked over to his table. Chayka glowered at him – he’d made it quite plain to the whole team on the first day that he ate his meals alone and would not tolerate company. Philippe appeared to have forgotten this.

  ‘Good morning, Professor.’ Phillipe smiled as he pulled out a chair and began to sit down. ‘May I join you? I badly need to talk to you about the results of the task you gave me.’

  ‘No!’ Chayka’s hand came down hard, startling Phillipe and spilling coffee over the table-top.

  He was appalled by this breech of protocol. He could see that Philippe was distracted but, even so, this lapse was unforgivable.

  Philippe stopped in the act of sitting, his smile disappearing as it suddenly dawned on him what he’d done. He backed off, wondering if he could retrieve the situation.

  ‘My apologies, Professor. Maybe after the briefing?’

  Chayka was unforgiving. He’d had his breakfast disturbed and felt intensely irritated. ‘Perhaps it has escaped you, Dr Fournier, but we are due to land on Mars today. There’ll be no briefing. The Bureau made it clear that this break is for you and your colleagues to have some rest time on Mars and they insisted there should be no discussion of work-related issues until the journey to Titan has resumed. Your results will have to wait.’

  He turned deliberately back to his breakfast, leaving Philippe to beat a hasty retreat. Chayka watched him scurry away and frowned. This episode was out of character for Fournier. Perhaps he should hear what the man had to say. He pondered for a moment and was about to call him back when he realised it was too late. Philippe had gone.

  He returned his attention to breakfast and put the issue of Fournier out of his mind.

  §

  Philippe hurried along to his cabin, mortified by his gaffe with the professor. He closed the door and sank into a chair, head in his hands and thoughts in tumult. Since Chayka had asked him to collect and analyse the team’s DNA things had become – complicated. Getting samples had proved to be more difficult than he’d imagined since it required a subtlety of action and deviousness of character he found most distasteful. To add to his discomfort, he’d put his developing relationship with Tirzah on hold. He couldn’t condone sleeping with her on the one hand and stealing her DNA on the other.

  When he finally had a full set of samples he’d begun his analyses – and then his problems really started. Nicolau was achondroplastic, and the mutation on the FGFR3 gene that caused the condition was well known. There was no evidence of it in the sample that Chayka had provided. That meant Chayka had made a mistake – and Chayka hated making mistakes. Philippe had pondered on the problem for a while before deciding it would be best if the professor didn’t find out. Instead, he would obtain a sample from Nicolau in the same way he’d got the others – by underhanded subterfuge. It hadn’t been easy, but he’d finally got what he needed.

  Then he wished he hadn’t.

  He got up and paced round the cabin, thinking furiously. Events were spiralling out of control and he had to do something. He sat down and opened his wrist console, spending several minutes poring over the data he knew he shouldn’t have – and certainly shouldn’t have boasted to Simon about. That had been a big mistake, and due entirely to his need to get back at the mathematician for all the jibes he’d had to endure since arriving on board the ship. He recalled the look on Simon’s face when he’d seen the file. Murderous would be a good description – and with justification.

  He reviewed his actions over the past few days and was distressed at how low he’d fallen in his own eyes. He’d read somewhere that once you’d carried out one illegal act it became easier to perform others but he’d never thought it would one day apply to him. He gave a wry smile. If he survived this he could be heading for a future as a career criminal.

  That last thought made him pause. Had he actually begun to think his life might be in danger? Was that a realistic assessment of the situation or just a product of his overwrought imagination? Was he having a breakdown? He gazed at himself in the mirror – at the white face, shaking hands, and nervous tic. He really could be losing it.

  He grabbed a bottle of Armagnac from his bedside locker and took two large gulps straight from the bottle. The fiery liquid made him gasp but seemed to do the trick and within a few minutes he looked more his normal self – slightly wide-eyed, perhaps, but definitely passable. Perhaps it was just a panic attack. He flopped back in the chair and was about to fix himself some coffee when the Captain’s voice came over the comm.

  ‘Ladies and Gentlemen, we’re now in final Mars approach and for those who are interested the forward view-screen in the lounge will provide quite a spectacular sight as we go into orbit. Once we’ve achieved orbital insertion, shuttles will leave for the surface within the hour. Passengers should report to the hangar with their baggage by 08.00.’

  Philippe hadn’t appreciated they were so close to landing. He swiftly packed his bags and tried to control the anxiety which had become his constant companion over the past couple of days. He was shortly
to meet with the other members of the team for the ride down to the surface and he mustn’t appear upset. At 07.50 he left his cabin and made for the hangar deck. He passed Walther Altmeyer’s room on the way and had a sudden thought. He tapped on the door and, as he’d hoped, there was no response. Walther would have departed for the hangar deck some time ago. He looked up and down the corridor – clear both ways, thank goodness – then rummaged in one of his bags for an item he’d recently acquired to help him with his DNA acquisition. He pulled the small device out of the bag, placed it on the door, and in a few seconds had obtained Walther’s door code. Within another thirty seconds he was inside the room.

  A few minutes later he emerged and closed the door behind him before hurrying down to the ship’s hangar. The waiting area was buzzing with the chatter of the assembled passengers and he could hear Tirzah holding forth on how spectacular the final approach to Mars had been, the planet going from a disk to an orb in virtually no time at all. She spotted Philippe and fell silent, shooting him a hostile look. Needless to say, this caused everyone to stare in his direction – just at the time he was trying to maintain a low profile.

  ‘Philippe! Our mathematical biochemist. How nice of you to join us! We were just wondering if you were going to make it in time for the transfer.’ That was Simon Chandler doing his usual thing. ‘You are alright aren’t you – you look a little off-colour.’

  ‘Thanks Simon,’ Philippe said. ‘I’m fine, and I wouldn’t miss the trip down to Mars for the world – any world actually!’

  There was a ripple of polite laughter at this sad attempt at humour but he saw that Tirzah wasn’t laughing. He badly wanted to explain to her why he’d been so distant for the last couple of days but to do that he’d need her alone for a while. Perhaps there’d be a chance when they were on the surface. He lugged his bags up to the group and wondered what to say to defuse the palpably hostile atmosphere. Luckily, he was saved the effort by the boarding announcement. Everyone hustled on board one of the little shuttles and scrabbled about trying to store their luggage and find a suitable seat. Phillipe didn’t want to sit next to Tirzah, Simon or Dominguez and managed to get next to Walther. The big man was soon doing his best to be companionable.

  ‘So Philippe,’ he said, smiling, ‘I trust you will be joining us tonight at The Bar on the Mall? It is supposed to be quite famous.’

  Philippe’s heart sank. There was no way to escape this ordeal. It was well known that he liked his drink and to back out would be suspicious in the extreme. He smiled at Walther and nodded.

  ‘Wild horses couldn’t keep me away Walther.’

  There was a pause while both men considered what he’d just said. Philippe had been learning colloquial English in preparation for this posting and thought he’d got the appropriate phrase for the occasion. Walther, however, still struggled with basic English, and this talk of horses had clearly confused him. In turn, Walther’s lack of understanding made Philippe doubt himself. It would have been amusing if both participants had recognised their individual roles. In the event it was simply difficult.

  ‘I would very much like to join you all,’ Philippe clarified. ‘It should be a most enjoyable evening.’

  ‘Ahh. Yes indeed.’ Walther grinned from ear to ear.

  Both men fell silent.

  Thanks to the inertial dampeners the flight down to the surface was as uneventful as the flight into Earth orbit. The passengers were processed efficiently through the necessary formalities, provided with a Mars Base information file for their wrist consoles, and taken to their rooms in the habitat zone.

  Philippe closed his door with relief and flopped wearily onto the bed, glad to be away from the others. He closed his eyes and massaged his temples, trying to persuade a nagging headache to leave him alone. It was very tempting to remain like that and pretend his current tribulations were all a bad dream – very tempting but not realistic. He sighed and stirred himself. Time to get down to work.

  To avoid interruption, he took what he needed to the library and spent several hours completing his self-imposed tasks. He’d only been back in his room a few minutes, and feeling badly in need of a shower, when there was a knock at the door. It was Tirzah. She barged in without waiting for an invitation and stood accusingly, hands on her hips.

  ‘I know what you’re doing.’

  That was the thing about Tirzah – you got it straight from the hip. No social niceties.

  ‘Tir I…’

  ‘Don’t try to deny it – you don’t lie well enough. I know you’ve been stealing DNA.’

  Philippe stared at her, completely at a loss what to say. It was bad enough that he’d got into this in the first place but now it appeared he’d been nowhere near as clever as he’d imagined. If Tirzah knew, how many others did?

  ‘I presume it’s to do with the mass PHASEing project?’ Tirzah was getting into her stride now. ‘You’re a fool to let the professor play you like this. It was that night in my room wasn’t it? He asked you to do it then?’

  ‘Tir, there’s more to it than that.’

  ‘I’m sure – and it’s eating you up from the inside. Share it with me. Let me help. I…’

  ‘I can’t!’ The pain in Phillipe’s head flared up again. He felt trapped. There was nothing he’d rather do than share his problem with Tirzah but he was scared of the consequences.

  Tirzah looked disgusted and walked to the door.

  ‘You’re pathetic! If you change your mind and want someone to talk to I’m still here for you. For God’s sake, Philippe – man up!’

  She left, leaving Philippe clenching and unclenching his fists, his thoughts in turmoil. He was about to run after her when there was another knock and his spirits rose. She must have changed her mind. He opened the door in anticipation.

  ‘Tir I…’

  Nicolau Dominguez stood there, smiling broadly. He was the last person Philippe expected to see. He was also the last person he wanted to see.

  ‘My friend Philippe,’ Nicolau said, ‘I think we have a little unfinished business. May I come in?’

  Philippe badly wanted to shut the door in the dwarf’s face.

  ‘Please.’ He held the door open.

  Nicolau gave a little nod of appreciation and came in. Philippe knew he was in no fit state to be having this meeting – he was an emotional wreck. He waited for the dwarf to start, expecting a difficult few minutes. Instead, everything seemed to go quite well, and when Nicolau finally departed it was on a positive note and following a firm handshake. Philippe watched him disappear round the bend in the corridor and wondered whether he’d done the right thing. Perhaps the long-promised shower would help.

  The shower did, indeed, seem to be helpful, clearing his head and bringing the meeting with Nicolau into greater perspective. He knew he badly needed to talk with Chayka but the professor had made it perfectly clear he wouldn’t discuss work until they were back on the ship. He was stymied.

  He checked the time and realised he was already late for the team gathering in the bar so he slipped on a jacket and hurried along to the Mall. He paused outside the door, wondering if this was a good idea. He was in no mood to socialise tonight and, with the exception of Walther, he couldn’t think of anyone who might want to socialise with him. What the hell was this evening about anyway? Team-building? Team-mending would be more appropriate – and they’d need more than glue to mend this particular team. Reinforced concrete sprang to mind.

  He knew he could debate with himself all night but he had little choice but to put in an appearance and the sooner he got it over with the better. He pushed open the door and scanned the room. It was really very impressive. The bar was designed in the shape of a massive cave, presumably intended to play to atavistic feelings of security. There was even a holographic tableau in one corner of the room consisting of a sabre-tooth tiger being kept at bay by a large fire. Philippe thought this was particularly apt given that the team’s own friendly caveman, in the shape of Walther
, was standing at the far end of the bar in conversation with Nicolau – not so very far from the tiger.

  The men from the Titan security team were grouped halfway along the bar and were clearly enjoying themselves. Their boss, Julio Cabello, was sitting at a table with Chayka, who sipped on an elderflower presse. Philippe wondered how those two had got together. Cabello was manfully attempting to make conversation with the professor and occasionally did manage to elicit a monosyllabic response. Chayka was his usual impassive self and Phillipe guessed he was probably bored and irritated in equal degree. He’d almost certainly leave when he’d finished his drink, Cabello or no Cabello.

  Tirzah was leaning on the bar next to Simon and saw Philippe come in. He gave a half-smile and started towards her but she deliberately turned away and said something to Simon, who smiled unpleasantly. Phillipe stopped, unsure what to do. After his experience on the shuttle he didn’t fancy trying to carry out a conversation with Walther all evening. And Nicolau? He shuddered at the thought. He got himself a Remy Martin and wondered again what the hell he was doing here. This had been a really bad idea.

  Tirzah struggled down to breakfast the next day feeling bleary-eyed and fuzzy. She had dark smudges under her eyes that no amount of make-up could conceal and she expected some snide comments from the other members of the team. However, when she saw the rest of them she knew she was home free. With the single exception of Nicolau, who looked none the worse for his excesses the previous evening and was tucking into breakfast with gusto, they looked no better than she did.

  Simon looked glum and was idly playing with his breakfast cereal. He, too, had a set of dark smudges under his eyes and he looked exhausted, but he roused himself enough to glare at Tirzah.

  ‘What?’ she said.

  ‘Nothing important.’

  He looked back down and continued half-heartedly picking at his breakfast. There was obviously something wrong but Tirzah couldn’t think what it might be and she was in no mood to indulge him further by making an issue of it. She picked up her own breakfast and sat down, glancing at Walther, who was drinking black coffee and popping aspirins.