THE ARGUS PROJECT
Mad Mort Southlee on the Moon, retired Mutilation Fighting champion turned sports pundit, made a more than usually gravel-voiced running commentary.
"This is new! Keaton's track record been a no-show until now. Can that really be him on the Golan-Norris XL? Oh my Goddess, he made a double dip at the 1-K temperature mark! Watch the replay - so fast my Microsony eye can barely follow."
From the Martian capital, the stalwart radio voice of Barking Bart Mahir saluted the new surfing star with his trademark howl.
"Waa-ooou! Roll over, Big Mack Hansen! There's a new champ in orbit and his name is Kolya Keaton.
He seems impervious to heat - edge of his board almost white hot, and he pushes the angle of descent even steeper - look at the also very promising contender, also Terran, on the orange-and-green Barton board... he's trying to push his board steeper to catch up... can he..?
Noooooo! The poor man on the Barton pushed it too steep and burned up... let's see if the rescue team can pull him out of the molten ball... he'll be the first casualty this year... but hey, watch that Keaton go!"
The Fleet's own official long-time commentator, the pneumatic Olga Oh, hired to promote Terran athletes, made this another occasion to trumpet the supremacy of the motherworld.
"The Terran rider is magnificent, truly the pride of Mother Earth... there, Keaton broke the official speed record! A Terran broke the universal skysurfing speed record! His board is still glowing red from the heat, but he keeps pushing on! Every true Terran is behind him, the new coming Solar Champion!
The judges are telling him to slow down, if he's going to land safely... he's braking to subsonic speed now... no wait, he's off course... Keaton's heading away from the landing area, but it won't change his splendid victory... what's this? The satellite cameras can barely follow, he's zigzagging like crazy... his helmet's come off! He's got... a white suit and a red helmet, it seems... he's getting out of the suit, but - what?
The board turns up riderless! Where'd he go?"
***
Venix dived through the thin Martian air. By now the friction of atmospheric re-entry had faded off, only the cold air cooling her body.
At the worst part of her surfboard dive, her skin temperature had risen to 300 degrees inside the spacesuit - but her previous experience of running into a burning forest made her confident. And the transparent plastic helmet inside the suit had prevented her coppery hair from melting.
Now she took off the helmet as she glide-dived through the air, and let the long hair flutter freely in the wind. Static electricity built up in her flowing hair, and she felt a faint tingle in her scalp.
Venix noticed that some of the static charge was being absorbed by the receptor-membrane in her skin and charged her batteries. Good. She had a feeling she'd need all the energy she could get after she landed.
She let herself body-glide for a few minutes in the low Martian gravity, slowing down the fall.
The skeleton and muscle alloys made her heavy and dense; she strained outward, tried to stretch herself out until she feared her metal bones would pop out of their sockets, and it actually hurt, for the nerve threads were being stretched.
Venix looked below for some sort of lake or stream to dampen the impact. Humidity she could see, but no glitter of water, only ice sparkling on the ridges and peaks. She measured her velocity as she strained, and the seconds seemed to pass much faster than usual...
Finally, at a low altitude, she dared to open her strap-on parachute. The transparent chute, near-invisible from a distance, folded out effortlessly. The winds tugged hard at it, but it held. Venix steered the chute with its old-fashioned hand controls. Though she had no previous training, it was quite easy.
Barely three hundred meters below, many miles from where Keaton's race should have ended, lay a valley, several kilometers deep. She took a course toward one of many deep canyons that connected to the major valley.
She had to hide the chute, then follow the great Vallis Marineris on foot until she reached the Martian capital. If the MSF didn't find her first...
She tried not to think of how slim her chances were.
***
The MSF monitored the race. A whole two weeks earlier, Fleetcom AIs had informed them of Venix' most likely escape route - and the Foss Fastline flight to Mars ranked among the suspect ones.
Every high-ranking Fleet security officer and commander was under orders from the Kansler's deputy to arrest Venix on sight and in complete secrecy.
Despite this, it was with great surprise that the MSF commander watched the live, classified surveillance footage of a woman wringing herself out of Keaton's scorched skysurfing-suit. 300 meters above the Martian surface, she took off in a transparent gliding-parachute. It seemed more like a bizarre publicity stunt than an actual escape.
The civilian cameras lost track of her as they traced the disintegrating board and suit instead. Zodong-Petain tracked the falling figure with his own restricted-access satellites and zoomed in on her face.
It really was the wanted woman, Venice Cherkessian. He couldn't believe it.
Zodong-Petain hesitated for a minute, until he realized he had to beat his security-officers to it and announce the discovery first. He switched on the secure laser-link and reported the discovery directly to the Kansler.
It took a good while for the light-speed message to cross several million kilometers and reach the flagship in Jupiter orbit.
The Kansler spent just five seconds to come up with a reply. After another long delay, the secured transcript of his reply arrived to the commander's screen-implant:
Your lack of initiative has been noted. The woman must be restored to the Fleet at any cost. Send everything you got to capture her alive. She must not get in touch with Martian government officials or other subversives.
You're in line for great privileges if you succeed, Commander. If you fail, you and your entire bloodline will be sterilized permanently, according to the Fleet's Genetic Security Act. Report to me and only to me whenever there is a development.
One more thing: the woman's name and identity are top-secret. She will be referred to as "Kolya Keaton" and nothing else. No troops or civilians are allowed to take pictures of her. We have activated the Fleet scrambler probe, and will jam any video transmissions or recordings of her escape.
Commander Zodong-Petain began to sweat heavily.
Every MSF officer was now put on alert. Zodong-Petain screamed threats and orders at his squad leaders over the internal communications link.
"I want to see every squad, every man on their way down to arrest a woman called Kolya Keaton and bring her to the station, as of now! The Kansler wants her alive. So no shots to the head! If anyone else - anyone - attempts to stop you, shoot to kill! If you fark up you'll be sent to the Triton outpost, all of you!"
One squad leader quickly objected that most of his men - all Terrans - were down sick with broken bones, or off-duty. Zodong-Petain screamed an order that surveillance-central personnel would replace the sick ones, and the sick ones would replace them in the surveillance centers.
A captain called in from the capital's brothel district: His men were off-duty to watch a benefit concert on Mars - and they would blankly refuse to chase a single runaway skysurfer until the concert had ended.
Zodong-Petain waited until the captain had ceased speaking, then demoted him to the rank of private.
He put his off-duty troops on standby for a new commanding officer, leaving them at the concert in the Martian capital. He figured they could easily be set in as a reserve, should the refugee make it to the capital (which he doubted).
Five minutes later, one hundred armed soldiers and officers of the Terran Fleet scrambled into their shuttles and were launched by EMP catapult into Mars' atmosphere. The remaining three hundred MSF troops, already on duty or leave on the planet's surface, prepared to be flown into the vast Vallis Marineris district.
Before Venix had even touched Martian ground, 400 of the ill-reputed MSF forces were in hurried pursuit to greet her. She could not possibly hide from them.
27: Burn, Cyborg, Burn!
(NEXT CHAPTER)
THE ARGUS PROJECT INTERNET EDITION (c)A.R.Yngve 1999, 2000, 2004. All rights reserved. May not be copied without permission.
Open this link in a New Window to play
SURFER MUSIC
(MIDI-player software needed)
bravenet.com