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Olympus Mons
Before the shuttle neared the landing bay doors, Dr. Carter pulled his visor down. He had not made the trip from Deimos to Mars in over six months. Harvey usually made the bimonthly trips for supplies. Since Carter was the chief medical examiner on Deimos, he was required to be on duty and was seldom given the luxury to seek entertainment at Olympus Mons. Not that it mattered because he and Wanda had found private moments whenever time allowed. But now she was gone.
The landing bay doors opened slowly. His fingers tightened around the metal briefcase handle. He was thankful that the computer did the flight navigation, so he didn’t have to worry about crashing the shuttle inside the landing bay.
It was a shame that the shuttle wasn’t equipped to make an entire space flight back to Earth. Had it been, he’d have made the journey. But the flight back to Earth took approximately seven months. He didn’t have enough provisions on Deimos to sustain such a journey, and the small shuttle wasn’t insulated properly to shield for longer periods of radiation. The ship certainly didn’t have enough fuel or oxygen to last more than a few days.
When the shuttle docked inside the Olympus Mons landing bay, Carter waited for the cockpit signal to flash and the door to unlock. When the lock unsealed, he flipped the door lever and pushed it open. He stepped out, kept his visor down, and headed for the corridor on the other side of the bay.
Standing near the computer panels, a brown haired woman watched him approach. She stood about five-four, had brown curly hair that flowed down her back. Her brown eyes studied him with a bit of skepticism. Her mechanic jumpsuit didn’t diminish her athletic figure.
Carter pretended he didn’t see her, so he didn’t pause in his stride as he walked past.
“Wait,” she said. “Harvey! You forgot to sign . . .”
Carter stopped and turned slowly.
Following him, she lifted a clipboard and presented it. “You forgot to sign the landing chart.”
Frustrated, Carter lifted his faceguard. “I didn’t forget.”
“Dr. Carter?” she said with a surprised, interested smile. Her eyes brightened.
“Hi, Sylvia. It’s been a while,” Carter said in a low voice. He flashed a flirty grin and a quick wink and then he rubbed the thick stubble on his chin.
Sylvia’s freckled face reddened as she flipped back her hair. “I certainly didn’t expect to see you. Why didn’t Harvey fly the shuttle?”
Carter leaned closer and placed a finger to his lips. “Shh. No one must know I’m here. Understand?”
She shook her head. Her brown eyes studied his with keen interest. “No. Why the big secret?”
In a hushed voice, Carter said, “I can’t tell you here. The mechanics and guards might hear.”
“So?”
“I can’t. Okay?”
Sylvia glanced at her watch and nodded. “Okay. My shift ended fifteen minutes ago anyways. Come to my room. It’s quiet there. We can talk and not worry about anyone hearing us.”
Carter nodded and lowered his faceguard.
***
The Vortex
Magnus sat at the bar with his mirrored faceguard partially raised. Even though the suit was three sizes too small, no one seemed to notice him. It was hard for him to accept that he sat right in their midst without being seen. They were more interested in drinking, dancing, and playing board games or cards than anything else. He felt like an invisible giant.
He took another shot of whiskey and tilted it back. The warmth ran down his dry sore throat, which eased the pain a bit. Hours of shoveling red dirt often caused him to cough up muddy phlegm, which was another reason that he wanted to get back to Earth. Even a healthy, muscular man like himself couldn’t maintain the toil he and the other miners had endured. Most of the men that labored beside him in the mine looked aged, tired, and frail. He reasoned the intense labor without adequate rest played a significant role in that because he didn’t believe any weak men had been chosen for such tasks. Constantly breathing in the dust and grit wasn’t healthy, either.
After Magnus downed his third shot, he felt less pain from the grueling labor he’d endured for weeks. His mind relaxed, too, which was something he longed for. But he knew this was short lived. He needed to be on the move soon. The longer he waited in one place, the easier he made it for them to find him.
He turned his head from left to right until his neck popped several times. He sighed from the relief. How long would it take for his muscles to loosen after the long hours of rigorous mining? Although the chips prevented the miners from feeling the pain, it didn’t alleviate the overworked muscles from possibly tearing or spraining. The wear and tear continued, regardless if they had any knowledge of their labor. Whenever injuries occurred, there wasn’t any work stoppage. They shoveled or swung picks until a guard noticed a miner’s trauma, provided they ever noticed at all.
The only pain that radiated through Magnus now was the blaring music from the speakers. He was glad to have the numbing shots of whiskey, but he couldn’t stay in this bar much longer. The angering beat that blasted and bounced off the walls grated his nerves, and if he allowed that to continue, his aggravation might make him too edgy to tolerate even the minor annoyances of potential drunks asking too many questions.
For his safety and perhaps that of others, Magnus decided to leave The Vortex to explore more of the outside corridors. The only places he had known up until his discovery of The Vortex were the mines and his small prison cell. He wondered what else he might learn about the prison planet.
He stood and headed for the door.
“Hey!” the barkeeper said. “Pay your tab!”
“Sorry,” Magnus said, returning to the bar. His hands grew wet with sweat. He didn’t fear the man because Magnus was twice the barkeep’s size. Few men ever intimidated him. However, he couldn’t afford any direct attention from the patrons seated around the bar, either. Other off duty guards and officers were probably nearby and armed. Should an argument catch their attention, they could quickly identify him as not one of their own.
Nervously, Magnus wiped his hands on the front of the uniform because he wasn’t sure how to pay the bill. He stood at the edge of the bar and put his hands into his pouch pocket where Digger slept.
“What’s your problem?” the barkeeper asked. “You haven’t drank that much. Your badge.”
“Huh?”
“I need to scan your badge.”
“Oh!” Magnus said, quickly handing it to the barkeeper. “Sorry about that.”
The man ran the card through the scanner. “There. See? Cain Meadows?” The barkeep suspiciously looked at Magnus for a long moment before handing back the badge.
Magnus slid the badge into his pocket and turned to leave.
“Cain?”
Magnus paused and looked back over his shoulder.
“You putting on some weight or something?”
“They gave me the wrong size uniforms this week.”
The barkeeper laughed. “Yeah, go with that. That would be my excuse, too.”
Magnus frowned. “It’s true. And it hurts like a mother in some places.”
“I imagine it does,” the man said with a slight grimace. “I guess you’re near to busting out the seams.”
Magnus feigned a laugh and walked toward the door. Talking too much would definitely give him away, especially if this man actually knew Cain personally. The barkeep would figure out the ruse within the matter of minutes. It was best for Magnus to stay away from people if he could help it, at least until he was able to escape from Mars.
Outside in the corridor, he decided to keep going in the direction that had led him to The Vortex. At least he was getting farther from the prison cells and into areas where people had control of their mentality, except for the inebriated, of course.
The narrow corridor broadened into a wider area that looked like the construction crew might eventually drill an intersecting corridor to function as a crossroads, which would open more mining pits, prison cells, and storage facilities. The two sides that had yet to be completed were dark and unlit. The voices of a man and woman approached beyond the unfinished intersection, so Magnus darted into the shadows to avoid being seen.