Two

Caroline Dahl

 

March 3, 2310.  Arcadia City, Mars

 

As the saying in C-Space goes:  "Mars is good.  Luna is better.  Earth is the dream (if one isn't already there.)"

 

V          V          V          V

 

            Home Sector Protection Bureau Agent Caroline Dahl sympathized with the two desperate and angry old men she had been tasked to subdue and arrest.  To make matters worse, several of the fourteen agents under her command suspected as much, and they possessed no such soft spot.

            One of the more diminutive HSPB agents stationed on Luna, Caroline arrived with her team at Arcadia City on Mars and immediately met Nicholas Dryden -- the Earth-installed mayor -- who had contacted the HSPB with a situation he described as "beyond urgent".

            Dryden's apparent disappointment at the sight of Caroline walking point for the group spoke not only of her size, but clear, pleasingly-proportioned features, light-brown hair (which she nearly always kept tied back) and soft green eyes with a youthful glint that tended to obscure the determination and fiercely competitive nature that burned deep within her.  Simply, she didn't look as though she was up to the task.

            Nevertheless, Dryden led Caroline and the two agents immediately subordinate to her to the administrative hub of the city.  All other agents in the contingent were dispatched to strategic locations for the possibility that force would be required.

            The problem on Mars which warranted the deployment of Earth forces?

            Jeremiah Blivet, age sixty-three and Yoppa Penrose, sixty-five -- stalwart, reliable minds, both.  The pair had barricaded themselves inside the listening post in Arcadia, issuing a threat to release looping transmissions of classified material to Earth's enemies:  beacon settings and call signs for HSPB surveillance vessels along the boundary that separated C-Space from the rest of human existence.  Nothing like it had ever happened before.  It was impossible to know just how disastrous such an action would be.

            "To the best of your knowledge, they can do this?" Caroline asked Dryden while still en route to the hub.

            "Theoretically...yes," Dryden replied.  The final word had stalled on his tongue, as if waiting long enough might prevent him from having to speak it.

            Caroline came to a full stop, turning to Dryden.  What was that?  Theoretically...yes?

            "Not a sufficient answer, I'm afraid," she said with a healthy portion of irritation.

            "It's hard to say how much they know and what they're capable of doing.  They've had the run of this place for forty years and -- "

            "And you're the mayor."  Caroline would have gone further, but she understood the importance of Blivet and Penrose, why they’d been given so much latitude.  Her awareness came not simply as an agent of HSPB.  Caroline Dahl had been born and raised in Arcadia.

                "I was told before being installed:  Give Blivet and Penrose space and freedom.  What they do is critical," Dryden started up again, pleading his case.

            Rarely was such a thing said of non-Earthers.  The exception in the instance of Blivet and Penrose had everything to do with the critical service the Arcadian listening post provided:  the gathering, sifting and decoding of immense amounts of data raked in from thousands of comms originating in U-Space. 

            The listening post's sophisticated über-empfänger allowed a deep reach across the boundary separating controlled and uncontrolled space.  Four hundred square meters of equipment, workspace and temporary living quarters could accommodate up to six at once, but, more often than not, was only occupied by Blivet and Penrose.  The genius of each combined to tease answers out of the fragments of comms passing between both legitimate and nefarious interests.  Their conclusions contributed immensely to Earth's limited grasp of what was going on in "hostile territory".

            Neither of the men ever married.  The nature of their work made wives impractical.  Moreover, neither had departed Mars -- or Arcadia, for that matter -- during their professional lives to enjoy R & R.  There was always far too much to do in the listening post with no one else reliably capable of doing it.

            Fortunately, they had each other.  The tendency to fall victim to the enormity of their task led to periodic drops toward insanity for one or the other.  Having a partner who could recognize the signs of cognitive crumbling and yank them back from the precipice proved valuable. (A one month period in which Blivet believed himself to be a reincarnation of his own mother, kept secret by Penrose until he could set things straight with his partner, illustrates the extent to which things could deteriorate.)

            If the level of dedication and stamina in Blivet and Penrose seemed a sign of passionate loyalty to Earth and her interests in C-Space, it would be a misreading.  The pair had been motivated from the start by the promise of permanent residence on Earth at the end of a forty year tour of duty.

            This promise was the sort made on rare occasions to non-Earthers performing critical functions.  None of the Earth representatives who offered the deal to Blivet and Penrose were around any longer to make good.  And, unfortunately for the two Martian geniuses, none of the current Earth leaders felt an obligation to keep the promise.

            Dryden moved quickly to insert himself in Caroline's path as they neared the administrative hub. 

            "You need to tell me what you have planned," he said, clumsily trying to hold onto whatever vestiges of authority he might still possess.  "You understand that rushing the listening post will just cause them to begin transmitting the loop prematurely?  It's important for you to know that.”

            "I was told by my superior before leaving Luna," Caroline said, "and reminded just before we landed.  I can promise you that I have that fact committed to memory."

            Dryden didn't seem to take any comfort in Caroline's response.  But there was no time for obstruction, and Dryden should have known it.

            Caroline glared at him, hands placed on her hips.  Her blue and green HSPB uniform included a black jacket with circular Bureau logo over the left breast.  One benefit of the jacket was the way that it obscured view of the standard-issue HSPB sidearm:  The Hoilman "Dainty", so named for the near pin-sized pellets which served as ammunition.

            (Note:  When Hundorn Hoilman introduced the first prototypes of his weapon years earlier, they elicited laughter from many.  Only when he demonstrated that his "smart ammo", small though it may be, was capable of emitting an electrical pulse which instantly and irrevocably ceased the target's heartbeat, regardless of where on the body it landed, did Hoilman's contribution curry favor -- a completely absolute application of the adage, "shoot to kill.")

            Caroline's hands-on-hips posture pulled her jacket back far enough to reveal the "dainty" -- what she hoped would suffice as motivation for Dryden to get out of her way without delay.  Which it did.

            Taking up a spot at the first console she came to in the administrative hub, Caroline glanced over her shoulder at Dryden:  "How do I open a channel to the listening post?"

            "Done," Dryden said, still humbled from Caroline's implication of ready force.  "That is, it's open.  Has been since they first issued the ultimatum."

            The hub, ordinarily brimming with activity, had been emptied of all personnel.  The two dozen consoles which accommodated all manner of administrative tasks to be completed quickly and efficiently were now abandoned.  The work going undone and the deserted room struck Caroline immediately.  She’d seen the hub at full strength a number of times in the past and the eeriness of the room under current conditions made it feel as if some catastrophe had already happened.

            Caroline took a deep breath and faced the console she’d chosen.  Along with Dryden and his top four adjutants, were the second and third ranking HSPB agents on site, Leopold Doone and Zachary Stovall, respectively.  But it was Caroline's mess to solve and untangle.

            "Gentlemen," she said into the console comms unit, "this is Agent Caroline Dahl, HSPB.  The mere fact that you're hearing my voice right now should indicate how serious this situation has become."

            No response.

            Caroline didn't wait long before trying again:  "I'm sure that each of you has thought about the likely consequences of what you're threatening to do."

            Obviously.  Nothing unclear about just what might occur if the transmission loop were to be triggered:  the protective "bubble" surrounding Earth-affiliated worlds would become dangerously porous.  Criminal enterprises such as Slowe Staine, Dirty Water and RippleStoppe would know everything they needed to exploit the vulnerable points in C-Space defense.

            It was impractical to keep a perfectly sealed border along the edge of C-Space.  The number of vessels necessary to do so would keep manufacturers working night and day for decades and still not meet the need.  Not much of a worry for Earth, Luna and Mars -- more centrally located and impossible to reach without being detected.  The outer, utterly unguarded worlds, however, would become ripe prey.

            Whether they were mining concerns, fueling and maintenance outposts or simply residential settlements, unfriendlies could overwhelm and loot them with virtually no resistance.

            Moreover, it would take weeks to renew the settings and call-signs made public by Blivet and Penrose.

            "All we want is what was promised us forty years ago," came a tired voice back through the console.  Caroline glanced at Dryden who mouthed, Blivet.

            A long pause.  Finally, the man spoke again.  "They voted us out of it down there...as if you didn't already know.  President Fannin doesn't reinstate our retirement by the end of the hour, and things are going to get very, very nasty on the fringe."

 

V          V          V          V

 

            "That pair will never fit in on Earth.  This is their home," Caroline Dahl had overheard her father say years earlier to several of the men under his supervision from vessel maintenance and engineering in Arcadia.  They frequently gathered to unwind over Martian ale and selenza, the favored dice game on the red planet through which Andrew Dahl and his friends had won and lost small fortunes to one another over the years.

            "It's Earth, Andrew.  It's Earth," one of the men replied with an expression that suggested nothing more needed to be said.

            "And they're Martian -- just as we are.  Both Blivet and Penrose are odd from top to bottom.  They'll be outcasts."

            The moment made an impression on Caroline that was impossible to lose.  She was no more than twelve at the time, within a year of her mother's passing, and she still believed in the things that made life a joy rather than a burden.  Chief among these was the possibility that she might one day walk the Earth, breathe the air that flowed naturally among the true home of all living things.

            Her father's views on the difference between Earth and the populations of other C-Space settlements came from anger.  It wasn't just that the citizens of Mars felt lesser beings in the eyes of Earthers.  That much was to be expected.  But Andrew Dahl seethed, as did many Martians, that Earth had halted terraforming efforts on their planet.  Designed to create a viable oxygen environment, the process would have changed life there forever.

            "They want every human other than themselves to live in tunnels, caverns and between walls," Dahl complained, usually in the safety of his home.  It was a dangerous thing to say too loud or too often, even though a majority of Martians believed the same thing about the cancellation of terraforming.  For people who had been steadfastly faithful to Earth, it was a betrayal.

            Consequently, Blivet and Penrose (along with the rest of C-Space) discovered that any promises made by Earth were provisional at best. 

            The Global Legislative Body had voted to eradicate the Earth retirement contracts of several dozen men and women in C-Space.  Yea votes numbered five hundred three.  More than enough to bypass the need for approval by Earth president John Fannin.

            "You must know that President Fannin can't order the restoration of your retirement.  It requires a legislative -- "  Caroline was cut off by a different voice coming from the listening post:  Penrose.

            "You suggest we should simply take it passively because they went through all the proper procedures?  Thank-you, no!"

            "That right there qualifies as refusal to surrender!"

            Caroline turned to the source of the claim, Agent Leopold Doone, and narrowed her gaze.

            "Protocol's clear.  Nothing more to say," Doone sneered, as if defying Caroline to counter him.

            "Protocol interpretation falls within the purview of the ranking agent on the scene.  Have I missed something or do I still fit that definition?"

            Stovall, a full head taller than Doone, glanced down at his colleague with an air of disapproval.  Doone had the look of a ‘golden boy’, hair never unkempt, while Stovall struggled with somewhat unconventional looks.  His bent and pushed in nose was the result of scores of adolescent fights on his home planet.  It did not take a trained eye to ferret out the truth:  the two despised one another.

            Doone was technically correct.  Penrose's response had been a refusal.  Still, Caroline understood why she'd been chosen to lead the HSPB team.  If her Arcadian roots could be exploited to bring the matter to a peaceful close, that would be preferable.  If force had to be used, it was no worse than if any other agent had led the effort.

            But now the crux of the problem for Caroline presented itself.  Ignoring a refusal to cooperate, such as had been offered by Penrose, further risking C-Space security would be seen as a weakness on her part.  Yet acting strictly by the "code" of HSPB procedures would render her a traitor of sorts in her home city.

            Either way, anyone disapproving of the means by which things were brought to a close would have a scapegoat.

            She knew it.  She accepted it.  Being put in a no-win situation was part of being a non-Earther in the HSPB.  However, that didn't mean that she was resigned to an outcome which would have her on anyone's bad side.  She was determined to make it work.

            Caroline motioned Dryden to come closer for a private word:  "Do you think they've gone..."  She let the sentence hang in the air, hoping her implication would be clear.  It took Dryden, furrowed brow and all, a second to catch up.

            "I don't know," he replied quietly.  "I saw them both yesterday.  They seemed as...normal as ever."

            Caroline turned back to the console.  "Mr. Blivet, Mr. Penrose:  I know you both not only by reputation, but from personal experience.  I'm also Mars-born.  My father was Andrew Dahl.  You may recall him from his years with the HSPB maintenance and engineering depot."

            Penrose spoke:  "I know who Andrew Dahl was.  That doesn't change anything.  Andrew Dahl would be on our side in this battle."

            "I hope you'll see that this doesn't have to be a battle."  Caroline tried to maintain the professional tone that would prevent her from looking weak.  "You understand well the consequences of what you're about to do.  Earth won't change her mind.  That means everyone will lose in the end.  Can you live with blood on your hands?"

            Penrose came through once more:  "Can you?"  He was emotional.  The edge in his voice suggested that he had more to lose by giving in at this stage than by standing firm.

            "Where would it all end, young lady?" Blivet again.  He was softer, less angry than his partner in the standoff.  "We give in now and Earth will feel emboldened to treat people any way they wish."

            Doone had been inconspicuously drifting further from the grouping of concerned officials surrounding Caroline Dahl, getting ever closer to the administrative hub exit.  Once his angle of vision into the corridor allowed him sight of the three junior agents stationed there, he made furtive gestures with his eyes which got their attention, readying them for...something.

            Upon Blivet's statement about an "emboldened Earth", Doone was close enough to the door for a quick departure.  Stovall only caught the last instant of Doone's disappearance from the room.

            Indecisive for a moment, Stovall glanced back at Caroline who was in continued discussions with Dryden and his people discussing how they might subvert Blivet and Penrose remotely.  She was assured that there was simply no way  to bring things to an end in that fashion.

            It may not have been the smart move or what was mandated by chain of command protocols, but Stovall slipped away in pursuit of Doone.  The last thing he heard was Dryden's warning that they were less than twelve minutes from the release of the transmission loop.

            "I think I have a right to know what you intend to do, Agent Dahl," Dryden said.

            "We have SNAT Gas -- one canister would fill the room in seconds," Caroline replied, eyes still fixed on the console.

            It was the logical approach to the problem and an old HSPB standard.  In the event of a standoff in which agents were at a tactical disadvantage, use any means necessary to shift conditions to the favor of the Bureau.

            "Take away their ability to breathe," agents were taught early on in tactical instruction.  "The one thing everyone has in common.  Good person, bad person.  Harmless, dangerous -- we all need air."

            "You're absolutely sure you can override the system once you're in the room?" Caroline asked.

            "Of course," Dryden said, seeming insulted at Caroline's doubt.  "We have kill options built in to every function.  It's part of the hard system."

            "Good," Caroline acknowledged softly.

 

V          V          V          V

 

            Ten minutes.

            As procedure dictated, all seven canisters of gas which accompanied the HSPB contingent to Mars had been aligned in a single row within several meters of the utility room containing an "air-push" linked to every room in the building.

            Arranged from least destructive to most severe, the canisters represented every level of possible incursion against unfriendlies.

            "SNAT" gas (Subdue Non-lethally And Tame), the most passive alternative, assured survival of anyone inhaling it.  Being subjected to it would result in losing consciousness fairly quickly -- for perhaps ten minutes.  Following the awakening, a severe headache and, quite frequently, nausea were the only lingering effects.

            As much as Caroline resisted the need to inflict any such thing as SNAT gas on the two aged men, it seemed more and more the only option.  And although it was her duty to issue the order, Leopold Doone appeared at the door of the air-push utility room with five agents in tow (he had picked up two more en route from the hub).

            "It's going to be a gassing," Doone said flatly.  "T-44 at the ready."

            Everyone stopped.

            "T-44?" asked Peltier, a moon-faced agent with receding hairline.  "What about SNAT?"

            "T-44," Doone repeated firmly, taking Peltier by the upper arm and shoving him toward the air-push utility room.

            "Did Agent Dahl order this?" Peltier asked, spinning to face Doone.

            "No.  She did not," came the answer from twenty meters back up the corridor from which Doone and the others had appeared moments earlier.  It was the voice of Zachary Stovall.

            Stovall increased his pace, closing fast on the group of agents around the utility room.  Doone was no match for the larger, approaching man.  He drove an elbow into the midsection of Peltier, wrapped an arm around his neck and positioned him as a human shield before Stovall could close the distance between them.

            The "Dainty" freed from Doone's belt was trained on Stovall's chest before he could get his own weapon out.

            "Shackle Agent Stovall," Doone commanded in a slightly shaky voice to no one in particular.  "Take his weapon and shackle him."

            No one moved.

            "I will shoot if it comes to that."

            One of the agents nearest Stovall, a woman in her late twenties named Gringham looked at him, as if to plead that he allow her to place shackles around his wrists for the sake of the least destructive outcome possible.

            "It's a choice," Doone continued, further emboldened.  "The way this standoff turns out will reflect on every one of us.  If we let Caroline Dahl drag this into a disaster, we all pay a price."

            Gringham stepped forward, extending the shackles toward Stovall carefully.  He assented after a moment, his mouth a tense crush in the midst of angry features.  Once immobilized at the wrists, Doone ordered him on the floor where a second pair of restraints were applied to his ankles.

            It would emerge some time later, in dribs and drabs of private conversations among several of the agents present that none of them knew all that much about Agent Peltier going into the operation that day.  He'd arrived at the HSPB facility on Luna only five weeks earlier.  In fact, none of them could be sure of his first name until days later when all the reports were completed.

            Consequently, no one at the scene could decide -- even with time for reflection -- why Peltier chose to grab Doone's left hand (the one holding the "Dainty") just as he was being released from the choke hold.  Perhaps it was an attempt at heroism or a devotion to the sanctity of the chain of command.  Either way, Doone reflexively fired a pellet at the spinning Peltier which found a home in the round-faced man's right eye.

            The electrical burst that sent a life-halting shock to the heart, also ruptured the eyeball.  Mercifully, Peltier's arrival on the floor left him face-down where the visible damage was mostly hidden from view.

            Doone, stared for a long second at his victim, finally spewing a string of insults at him.  "Stupid son of a bitch!"

            The others stood in silence.  Stovall with his closer-to-ground angle on Peltier, simply stared at the dead man's face that was turned awkwardly toward him.

            Doone gathered himself.  "T-44.  Now!"

 

V          V          V          V

 

            Caroline knew there were only eight minutes left.  She’d just finished her last appeal:  "You've both considered the position this puts every single Martian in?  Ask yourself how you'd advise anyone contemplating what you're about to do."  No response came initially from Blivet or Penrose.

            Bad as she felt about it, Caroline needed to send SNAT gas into the listening post.  There was no avoiding it any longer.

            Just as Caroline gestured for Dryden to don the protective suit that he would need to immediately enter the listening post, Blivet's voice came over the console:

            "Alright," he said wearily, pained from the defeat.  "We'll come down.  But please make..."

            The words ended with an odd gurgling followed by complete silence.

            "Please repeat," Caroline spoke into the console with urgency.

            No response.

            A quick scan of the room by Caroline revealed the absence of Leopold Doone and Zachary Stovall.  Her heart sunk.  Pulling Dryden along -- who still had the protective suit in hand -- she ran from the administrative hub.

 

V          V          V          V

 

            The handful of agents positioned around the air-push utility room had mostly stunned expressions, as if the blood had escaped from their faces.  Caroline and Dryden, with others in tow, arrived.  The sight of Stovall on the ground, bound at the hands and feet, alongside what was clearly the dead body of another agent (Caroline knew the man's name began with a 'P') had the effect of paralyzing everyone who had just appeared on the scene.

            "Doone used T-44," Stovall said from the floor.  "He didn't even consider SNAT."

            Caroline was in a protective suit in seconds, making for the nearby lift that led directly to the listening post.  She and Dryden arrived at the wide entry to where Blivet and Penrose had holed up, the automatic door pried open and held in place with a gray tresanium "grip", as Doone and two other agents pulled Penrose and Blivet from the room.  A brief glance at their faces, mouths half-open, but rigid and pained, confirmed that they were dead.

            The result of T-44:  most vile and egregious.  Assuredly fatal.

            Dryden's only focus, understandably so, was the override which would halt the release of the transmission loop.  He struggled only slightly with the cumbersome nature of the protective gear to override the system.

            Caroline reversed her focus to the double doors as Doone stepped back inside.  His own protective covering prevented her from getting a real look at his eyes, which is what she wanted most to see.  How could he have intentionally killed Blivet and Penrose when SNAT gas would have done just as well in stopping the old men?

            The reverse action of the air-push was already clearing the room of the noxious T-44, but to be safe, Caroline gestured for Doone to leave the room.

            Down one level, not even bothering to wait for Caroline on the lift, Doone started the process of peeling off his protective gear when she caught up and immediately pulled the headgear from her suit.

            "What the hell gave you the authority?" she yelled at Doone.

            "Your refusal to do the job that had to be done," Doone said, seemingly pleased with himself.

            "SNAT gas!  We were to use SNAT gas!"

            "What's at stake...and you want to use something that?  T-44's a sure thing!"

            "Enough!" 

Caroline turned to the nearest agent.  "Get the shackles off of Agent Stovall, help him to his feet and get his assistance in placing Agent Doone under arrest for insubordination..."

            She glanced at the dead agent once more, "...and suspicion of murder."

            Strangely, as if someone with an odd sense of humor were conducting the action, music began to play through the collection of speakers running the length of the corridor.  It was music of Earth -- the sort performed by actual men and women with instruments invented so many centuries earlier that even most Earthers couldn't tell you how long they'd been in existence.  Caroline seemed to recall the music.   She wasn't sure how she knew it, but the sound made her think of years earlier when such things might crop up here and there in certain locales within Arcadia, representing things which were distinctly of Earth, but available for everyone to experience.

            Dryden strode out from the lift.

            "That," he announced, referring to the music issuing from above, while still wearing most of his protective suit, "is what Blivet and Penrose were prepared to have released in their automated transmission loop."

            "Music?" Caroline asked, incredulous.

            Dryden nodded.  "Nothing remotely related to beacon settings and call signs.  Only music."

            "Why?"

            "Something they played all the time.  Called The Four Seasons, I think."

            And that was when the recollection for Caroline came complete.  She had heard the composition before.  Heard it as she walked, on occasion, through the atrium reserved for Arcadians in the service of Earth.  Artificial, yet convincing, plants walled out the typical look and feel of the Martian city for the fortunate few.  Her access was thanks to her father's position with HSPB vessel maintenance. 

She remembered two men.  They played chess and spoke to one another incessantly, even as a serious move was being contemplated.  She hadn't known the men, but they usually smiled at her.  Her father told her that the men worked "up high."

            "Higher than any of the rest of us," he'd said.

            "Doing what?"

            "They listen."