THE ARGUS PROJECT
While the Jovians developed into small, robust low-gravity forms to manage scarce food supplies, the Venusians made only internal alterations and kept their outer appearances identical to Earthlings.
First- and second-generation Venusians were born impervious to the sulfur and carbon dioxide that slowly leaked into their domed settlements from the planet's toxic atmosphere - they only seemed a little pale and yellowish in the skin.
The first Earthborn "Martians", impatient with the terraforming program to take effect on their new homeworld, first tried to bombard the atmosphere with icebergs from Saturn's rings. This quickly improved the conditions for imported plant life, but not nearly enough to make the atmosphere breathable for at least 200 years.
And in their near-fanatical mission to adapt, Martian colonists began to re-design their own unborn children: doubled lung and ribcage size, stronger hearts and thicker blood, leathery, furry skin and the capacity to store water in belly and buttocks. Also genes from native Eskimos and Mongolians were mixed in, to perfect a hardy future colonist who withstood extreme weather conditions, desolate terrain - and loved it.
And with these differences established, Terran citizens and the new "true" Martians began to despise each other.
Earthmen called adapted Martians "Hairies" and "Gorillas".
Martians, in response, called Earthmen "Pinks" and "Unborns".
But the ties to the homeworld could survive, as long as the first Earth-born colonists were alive.
Venix landed on Mars unaware that the original colonists were now dying of old age - and with them, the last shred of loyalty to "Mother Earth". Once the Earthborn Martians had died off, the "true" Martians were determined to wage war for their independence.
At this hinge moment, the Martians tensely regarding the campaign against the Jovians, fearing when the Kansler's attention would turn to them, any small spark could set the red planet ablaze...
***
Venix struggled to keep a reasonably steady course in the enormous, windy Martian canyon. Her flying parachute rippled frequent stabs of turbulence threatened to crumple it.
The air was crystal clear and no sand storms were in sight. She swung into a narrow cliff pass, no wider than 150 meters but winding at least a kilometer ahead.
At the speed she was going, between 70 and 90 KMPH, an impact and fall to the canyon floor could damage her. It frightened Venix that she might end up crippled on an alien world, and perhaps never be found.
And just as she feared, the wind began to pull her toward the canyon walls. An eroded, brownish-red cliff face, 700 meters high, rushed past her - full of outcrops and sandy ledges. At its mist-covered bottom lay a muddy pool, connected to the much wider stream of mud that made up the "river", composed of water that had once been space ice.
She thought fleetingly of Captain Foss, who had flown one of the ships that ferried icebergs from Saturn's rings to Mars. Most of that imported water still only existed in mud, or as thin clouds and vapor; the atmosphere was yet too thin to keep open lakes and streams from boiling away.
She could sense the moisture in the air increasing slightly; the winds carried the water-clouds just above ground.
During the shuttle flight, she had studied and memorized maps of Mars; she was fairly certain this pass was called The Dead Astronaut's Canyon, after an accident in the last century. To glide-fly along the main canyon to cover some of the distance was tempting but too dangerous - too easy to spot her by radar and satellite. She had to move in cover of the cliffs.
Then, an unexpected wind tossed her toward the wall with greater force - and she put her feet out to take the impact.
"Unngh!"
...unngh! ...nngh! ...ngh! ...gh!
The rolling echo mocked her; she resolved not to cry out again - and kicked back from the cliff wall, but the wind kept pushing the parachute against it - the chute began to crumple up and she could sense the imminent fall.
Venix dangled toward the wall a last time - she held out arms and feet, squinted to keep flying dust out of her eyes. With a muffled, scraping thud in the thin, icy air, she grabbed desperately for a handhold, dug her fingers into the crumbling rock...
The chute caught more wind, and began to tug her away. In a split-second reflex she pulled the emergency strap, and the straps opened.
The transparent chute flew away from her, and danced down the cliff like a leaf. Not good - she should have buried the parachute.
Venix began to climb down the 300 meters to the bottom; the sun was still fairly high in the sky. She knew that during the night, her odds were even worse, for with cold air and clear night weather, she would stand out like a bright light in heat-seeking sensors.
The sun's rays gave her new strength and she descended faster, changing each foot- and handhold before it collapsed under her dense weight.
To adjust the amount of friction and suction of her feet, a skill she had learned a long time ago, proved almost useless on the eroding, sand-covered cliffs. But her fingernails served as climbing-spikes.
After what seemed, in her perception, an hour-long descent, she could put her feet on the ground. She had sand in her eyes, and her automatic cleaning system was struggling to wash it out; the irritation got on her nerves like a persistent itch, and she had to fight the urge to scratch her eyes.
Looking down at her feet, Venix realized that they were sinking into a bed of clay and mud; unlike Earth-dirt, this powdery reddish muck clung to her skin and made her white body membrane resemble an unwashed body-stocking.
"I hate this filthy planet, I hate it hate it!" she sobbed as she trudged through the ankle-deep, cold sludge, and deeper into the shadowy pass.
...ate... ate... this filthy... ilthy... planet... net... net..!
She grabbed her hair, and tied it into a clumsy knot. Her usual grace seemed gone; she moved clumsily, like the first time she had come to Earth.
Venix looked up at the towering cliff walls, and hesitated: if she went farther into the pass, she might get trapped there. If she went out into the wide-open space of Vallis Marineris, the MSF could spot her - for the sand storms she was hoping for had not showed up, and the morning mist evaporated around her.
Venix stopped, and her dirty legs sunk a little deeper into the clay. Feeling very foolish, she realized that she ought to follow the edge of open valley, and turned around.
She tried to pick up the pace and run as she reached dry sand at the edge of the walls. Running proved impossible: there were so many small rocks scattered across the sand, and she kept stumbling on them. Venix wondered if she was losing her mind, but it was just ordinary despair.
She forced herself to look up at the top of the pass, where the narrow slice of dark-blue air with pinkish-yellow streaks shone down on her; she felt as if she was crying without tears.
Somewhere out there Gus was fighting the war, and didn't know she was in this cold mud pit on Mars...
***
Still feeling very small, soiled and miserable, Venix reached the main canyon valley, and marched on alongside the southern wall. Pointed peaks and mesas, similar to Grand Canyon's on Earth, lined the edges of the wide valley and stood in her path.
The ground changed; here, in the sunlight, it was covered by hard moss and lichen - hardy, engineered plant-life, created a hundred years ago to transform Mars into a living world, and now growing like a weed in the deserts.
She could run on it without having to trudge; the moss felt elastic, like a rubber mat. Venix broke into a run, then a sprint; she felt in control now, and forgot about her irritated eyes.
Her speed increased to 40 KMPH, she ran with her former grace, and skipped over the rocks and boulders that stood in her path. The wind rustled through her ears, and a faint rumble rose over it...
She slowed down and scanned the skies.
The aircraft were many, coming in from a few hundred meters above, and their paths were converging on her. Venix hoped, knowing it was futile, that the caked dirt and mud on her body would prevent body heat from giving away her position.
The aircraft came closer, grew louder and larger; she counted at least ten of them, each capable of holding a squad of troops. In a few minutes they would land. Several laser-sight dots danced about her feet, locking weapons onto her exposed body.
Fear gripped, paralyzed her; she would be imprisoned again, clutched by guard robots with claws and tasers...
A question occurred to her, and at first she couldn't understand where it had come from: What would Ali have done? The terror awakened a part of Argus that was in her mind - the exchanged thoughts from when they had fused minds in Old Copenhagen.
She felt what Gus would have felt: Only fight when you have to, fight only to win. In his thoughts, she found inspiration:
I'm metal and plastic, I don't have to breathe; my reflexes are a hundred times faster than theirs, even with their neural implants. They are many, but slow, clumsy Terrans who can't breathe the atmosphere.
If I get close enough - if I act like a machine - I can gain the upper hand. Just for a short time, I'll be a war machine.
But it will get all over the Solar System, like that smear campaign. My relatives will hear that I'm not just a machine, but a vicious killer. Damn you, Kansler! You're the only human being I really, really want dead... or I'll help Gus kill you.
Venix clenched her teeth, and made a circling run for the closest of the approaching shuttles - a dull-orange bulbous beetle shape, sprouting thin legs and antennas, tracing her with searchlights and laser-sights.
Quite rapidly, it hovered down toward the ground in a cloud of dust, carried by silent rotor blades. Before it touched ground, Venix leaped into the air with her hands outstretched.
The men inside the craft glimpsed a filthy female figure with bared, very white teeth, hurtling at them like some sort of supernatural apparition.
The men were drugged, like all Fleet troopers, to feel no fear or lust in combat, only obedience. But the cold, searing look in the woman's ice-blue eyes was enough to make the troopers hesitate...
29: The Dead Astronaut's Canyon
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THE ARGUS PROJECT INTERNET EDITION (c)A.R.Yngve 1999, 2000, 2004. All rights reserved. May not be copied without permission.
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