Down to Mars
20 Aug 2020Kodeyne
M. Gorbachev to Mars High. Mars High to Olympus Village.Cornelius Monfort gazed out of the shuttle window as the ship eased out of glide, smiling as he always did at the sight of Olympus Mons. Fourteen miles high, lower slopes covered with verdant forest. So damn big, yet you couldn't actually see it from the surface, thanks to its shape and the curvature of the planet. He did like that fact.
He had been here for a week now. Tried to conduct his investigations as discreetly as he could. He had spoken to those ten women on his list, being as honest as he could be. But when it got down to the crucial question, always a variation on 'who, or where, is the father of your child?', the subject invariably avoided giving a straight answer, the response being along the lines of 'I don't know, it was a just a fling', or 'we separated, don't keep in contact'.
He was well versed in reading people; he could tell that they were concealing the truth. But also that they were full of fear. A fear obvious in their eyes, their body language. How could anyone exert such control over so many innocent people?
The crunch had come after the last meeting, making his way back to his hotel. Walking through a dimly-lit street, yet with the bright lights of Olympus Village shining all around.
"Mr Monfort," said a calm voice. He turned to face the man who had just stepped from the shadows. Tall, slim, handsome with blond hair, smart suit. Monfort took a deep breath. The stranger did not seem intent on attack, but the detective's instincts sensed menace.
“Can I help you?” he enquired politely, arms loose at his sides. The man stepped forward, his face half in shade.
“You need to stop what you are doing, Mr. Monfort. Desist with these enquires.”
“Well now. How interesting that you should know me, are aware of my task, and indeed that it should be any of your business.”
“We both know what I’m talking about. You were hired to locate a certain person; you seem to have gone off a different track.”
Monfort shrugged. “By interviewing other people who worked at the same firm? Seems a reasonable line of enquiry to me.”
“None of those women would have worked with the person you are meant to be finding. It is our belief that you are no longer serving the interests of the client. Hence, you may consider the contract void, and should drop your investigation immediately.”
Monfort took a step closer to the man. “So the fog lifts a little. I’ve never seen you before, but you seem to know a lot about me.”
Unfazed, the blonde man leant forward. “Out of professional respect, Mr. Monfort, please consider this a gracious caution. Let this case go and walk away, lest unpleasant things occur.”
A gust of wind caused Monfort’s jacket to flap. But he was smiling. “Ah ha! I knew it. You are the people behind this. The lies. The faked messages. The ones who would do the dirty deed when I had located the poor lass.”
“You will not get another warning, Mr. Monfort.”
“I’m sure of it. But I’d like to thank you, stranger…”
The man lifted a perfectly-shaped eyebrow.
Monfort began to walk away. “For proving me right. And to prove what I’m doing is right,” he said over his shoulder, “Oh, and you think no-one has tried to intimidate me before?”
There was no reply. He turned back and saw the narrow street was empty. He began to walk a little faster. Despite his bravado, he had no doubt that the man and his associates were not in the business of making empty threats.
What am I going to do? he thought. One thing was for sure, he could not just back away and forget the whole thing. Such an elaborate scheme, just to locate one person? But he knew why. Alison Keenan had gotten away, out from under the control of her tormentor; likely this had never happened before. Thus, she had the power to bring him down. But if Monfort could not find any other victims...it would be a pretty poor case to bring to the Federal Courts. Especially if this - man - had the kind of reach he appeared to.
He found himself outside the Mars Exploration Museum, a neoclassical building built from ruddy Martian basalt; he recalled he had always wanted to visit this place. Wandered through the exhibits and information boards, lost in thought, until he chanced upon the section dedicated to the early landers and rovers. Each one was represented with a crisp, flawless hologram. The actual machines were still out there, where they had touched down or come to a halt, each one surrounded by a protective sphere that penetrated under as well as over the ground, that preserved the Martian environment before terraforming had taken place. Thus were they protected from the elements and maintained for posterity, as well as to stop souvenir hunters stealing bits from them. He was particularly taken with Spirit, a plucky little construct that had lasted twenty times longer than its expected lifetime. As he gazed at the slowly rotating image, his resolve hardened. Just as this humble machine had carried on, despite the odds, so would he.
An all-night diner provided a welcome cup of Earl Grey tea and a salad sandwich. He pondered his next move as other patrons came and went. He was vaguely aware of a woman at the next table, chatting quietly into her phone. She ended her call and went to put the phone away; knocked the bag over, spilling several things onto the floor. She leant down and quickly gathered them up, stuffing them back where they belonged. As she got up to leave, Monfort noticed something on the ground that she had apparently missed. He bent over, scooped up the small, pale blue rectangle. Straightened, intending to return the thing, there was only the café's door, swinging shut. He sat back, tucking the card away in a pocket. He had caught a glimpse of what was printed on it.
Made his way back to the hotel, affecting an air of introspection and gloom. Once back in his room, he packed as fast as possible, grabbed his datapad and managed to book a seat on the next shuttle up. It would leave less than half an hour.
Olympus Village to Mars High.
A sigh of relief escaped his lips as Sungrazer’s airlock hissed shut behind him. He had spent a lot of money on this little ship, not so much for its performance attributes, but to ensure it was a safe place. Physical and cybernetic intrusions would be quickly detected and dealt with. Even so, he did not want to stay in Sol longer than necessary, knowing they were out there, no doubt watching him. But he had to know.
Folded down the wall panel in his cabin, revealing a terminal and its peripherals. His office. A glass of brandy was carefully set down by the keyboard. He carefully took that card from his pocket and studied it. A standard business card, laminated for durability. This one had a logo you saw everywhere in the Federation – on music systems, on speakers, on microphones, on phones. Dobie-Bachmann. There were no other words printed on this one though. He rubbed his thumb over the polymer surface and felt a roughness where, perhaps, text had been filed or scraped away. Business cards might seem like an anachronism in this day and age, but they usually contained digital information.
He slipped the card into the universal reader. “Scan for chip,” he instructed the terminal.
“Chip detected. Do you wish to read the chip’s contents?” replied the calm female voice.
“Yes.”
The screen blinked and changed. A portrait of a middle-aged Federation male, neatly-combed brown hair, a dignified face. But the eyes…
Below, there were a few lines of garbage text and then it became legible.
Detective. This is the man you seek. We cannot talk directly, for he watches us, all the time. He is obsessed. Once we are in his power, it is for life. We are provided for – so long as when he orders something, we obey. We understand you seek to bring him to account. If so, we will testify. He is a monster. He must be stopped.
Monfort stared at the screen, and downed the brandy. His mind was reeling. The office system was folded back into the wall, and he went to don his RemLok. He needed to talk to Commander Koydene. Perhaps he was overcautious, but he did not trust normal communication channels to be secure against his well-equipped opponents. But better overcautious than not cautious enough.
Sungrazer shot out of the docking bay of Mars High and disappeared into witch-space.