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The Malcontent of Mars — Chapter VIII: Runaways

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EPI

This chapter contains torture and strong bloody violence.

The first thing that Erika Hythe noticed when she woke up was that she was sitting down. The second thing she noticed was the wrist restraints – a set of plastic cable ties. Her smart suit had been removed, as had her shoes and socks.

“What the—” she said, looking up. “What is going on?”

“You’re on board my ship,” said Maxwell. “We’re here to encourage your cooperation.”

“Not on your life,” Hythe said.

“I had a feeling you’d say that,” Maxwell said, smiling. “That’s why I’ve asked Aeterna to persuade you.”

Aeterna stepped forward, cracking the knuckles on her hands. There was something resembling sympathy in her eyes.

“Any time you want me to stop, just say so,” Aeterna said, before delivering a hard slap to Hythe’s face.

Hythe silently took the slap.

Maxwell nodded. “I’ll let you get to know each other,” he said, walking away from the compartment to the music of a succession of dull thuds and loud smacks.

*

Ralph sat at the breakfast table. His little girl, Michelle, sat in a high chair, gurgling and eating blended oatmeal, which was smeared over her face and her bib. His wife walked over and wiped the baby’s face, cooing “Messy baby, ooh, messy baby,” as she did so, to little Michelle’s delight. She giggled and wobbled in the high chair.

Ralph looked down at the plate of toast and marmalade in front of him. Could this be real?

His hands looked younger, somehow, softer. Perhaps it was true. The last ten years of his life had been a bad dream, and nothing more. It had all been so vivid. And yet here he was, at the breakfast table. Sunlight streamed in through the windows. It was like nothing had changed. Olympus City was still here. This apartment was still here. It was all real. It had to be…

“Is everything all right, dear?” Claire asked. He hadn’t heard that voice in what seemed like a thousand years. “You haven’t touched your breakfast.”

“I’m not hungry,” Ralph said. “I had a bad dream last night. Something awful…something awful—” He began to shake. He couldn’t finish the sentence.

“It was just a dream, sweetheart.”

“It felt so real.”

“They always do,” Claire said, spooning some porridge into Michelle’s mouth. “But it’s okay. You can learn a lot from dreams.”

“There was a man,” Ralph said. “A very bad man. He…did something really bad. And he got away with it. And I was trying to find him and…and kill him.”

“Really?” Claire said, wiping the baby’s mouth again. “That’s not the Ralph I know. You never struck me as the violent or vengeful type.”

Ralph looked down at the tablecloth, a little ashamed. “I thought that if I could hurt him, it’d make it better.”

Claire looked at Ralph a little disapprovingly. “Well, let’s say a bad man did do something terrible…if someone were to kill you, for instance…and I hurt or killed this man, would it really make things right? It wouldn’t bring you back after all. You’d still be dead.”

Ralph sighed. “I suppose not.”

“There’s got to be a better way, right? Maybe there are people in this world who do things so terrible that they deserve to die, but…you can’t kill ‘em all.”

Michelle cooed and gurgled as Claire fed her another spoonful of the oatmeal. Ralph watched her, pensively.

“I don’t understand,” he said.

“Eventually, something has to give. It’s like a chain, and every link is forged by an act of violence. By not letting yourself be driven by hatred, you break the chain.”

Ralph looked over at his wife, struck by a sense of déjà vu.

“Is there something wrong?” Claire asked.

“No, I just – what you just said, it’s familiar.”

“Oh, I probably picked it up from some book someplace.”

“No, no, someone – someone said that to me. Not long ago. Two days ago.”

“Well, it’s a lucky coincidence.”

“No—” Ralph said, and his eyes began to tear up. “—I think I know what’s going on, here.”

“Da-da,” Michelle said, cheerfully.

Ralph stood up, picked up the little girl and looked into her eyes, at her curly hair, and kissed her softly on the forehead. He put her back down, and turned to Claire, putting his arms around her, and planting a kiss softly on her lips.

“You were always the smartest girl in class,” he said. “God. You were so much smarter than I ever was. And I miss you so much. Every day. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about you…and how it shoulda been me. But I think I know what you’re trying to tell me, even if you don’t know it.”

Claire simply smiled. “That’s the Ralph I know,” she said. “Stupid Barf Kowarty.”

“I love you,” Ralph said, as tears streaked down his cheeks, and he embraced her, and as he did so, her body felt as though it were made of golden light, and the room around them dissolved, and all became one shining pillar of light and warmth which could never, ever be extinguished.

And he could hear her saying: “Now wake up, my love. Wake up, and find her…”

*

Kowalski woke up in his bunk. He looked over at the corridor-side wall of the cell, a solid sheet pane of two-inch-thick Plasti-Glass that was, despite its thickness, completely transparent, barring some minor refraction. A guard was standing outside with a figure he couldn’t quite make out.

“Get in there, scumbag,” the guard said, pushing the man in.

“I served my fuckin’ nation for this treatment?” said the figure. “I’ll break your fuckin’ nose, asshole!”

Kowalski rubbed his eyes. No goddamn way.

The figure turned around and saw him. “You!”

The vagrant from Rapture.

“Nice to meet you again,” Kowalski said, as pleasantly as possible.

“You piece a’shit, I’d knock you out if they hadn’t just, I’ll tell you what, when I wake up, I’m gonna give you such a beating…” the vagrant said, trailing off, before leaning against the wall with his back, sliding down and falling asleep.

“I’m coming for you, Callie,” Kowalski said, to the now-silent room. “Just you wait.”

☾

“Status update?”

The police had left them alone for now, but they weren’t out of the woods yet. If Maxwell had leaked details of Kowalski’s identity to the cops, then it was possible that they were also looking for him.

“The signal is coming from a spaceport over Luna, somewhere near the south pole. If I know Maxwell, he chose it for its lower profile.”

“We need to board that vessel,” Mehmet said. “One of us is going to have to sneak on board.”

“I’ll do it,” Jefrey said. “I made most of the modifications to the Divine Hammer. If anyone knows the failsafes to get in without raising the alarm, it’s me.”

“I need to go and get Kowalski out of jail. They’ll have taken him to the processing centre down in Toronto-γ. Sure you’ll be all right doing it on your own?”

“Should be. I’ll let you know where we can rendezvous.”

“Roger that,” Mehmet said, steering the Rock Lobster towards Terra.

He turned to Christine. “You ever seen Canada?”

“No,” Christine replied, sullenly. “I can’t believe that Ralph made me go with you.”

“He just wants you to be safe. If you’d gone with him and Jefrey with me, you’d be stuck on an empty ship, or possibly dead. And if you’d gone with him and Jefrey, you’d be going up against a very dangerous man. Staying with me is the safest option.”

Christine folded her arms. “I don’t understand him.”

“I don’t either,” Mehmet admitted. “He’s a crazy bastard. But that’s what you have to understand: He’s a crazy bastard.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you can’t live like him.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“When I hear you talk, you sound like him. You can’t live that way, do you understand? You’re seventeen – you’re just a kid.”

“I’m not a—”

“Everyone says that when they’re seventeen. And when they’re eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one. But Kowalski is much older than you. And you have to understand that you can’t live your life thinking like him and doing what he does.”

Christine fell silent.

“Do you understand me?” Mehmet asked.

“Yes,” Christine said, tersely. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“I’ve spent my whole life latching on to people,” Christine said. “I don’t know how to just be me.”

She buried her face in her hands. “God damn it,” she said, issuing an uncharacteristic profanity.

“Hey,” Mehmet said. “Don’t get upset. Everyone feels like that when they’re seventeen. I know I did.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I thought my big brother was the shit. I looked up to him so much, I wanted to be him. But the older you get, the more you figure out who you really are. It takes time, kid. Cheer up, okay? You’re a good kid, but I just don’t want to see you ending up like Kowalski, driven by violence and revenge. Maxwell has to be stopped, of course, and we will stop him, inshallah, but you can’t go through life thinking that Kowalski’s response to his situation is a healthy one.”

“I understand,” Christine sniffled. “Thank you, Mehmet.”

“Don’t mention it,” Mehmet said. “Now get ready.”

Terra slid into view on the front screen.

“First time I’ve been home in a while,” Christine joked, and Mehmet laughed out loud.

◯

Hythe’s cheeks stung, and her eyes watered, but she didn’t speak. Aeterna slapped her again.

“Fuckin’ talk,” Aeterna said. “Stubborn bitch.”

Hythe looked at her. Aeterna slapped her again.

“Just agree to cooperate with us,” Aeterna said. “And we’ll let you go.”

Hythe looked down at her feet, which were bare, and started laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Aeterna barked. “Hey! Hey! Shut up! Stop it!”

“I’m sorry,” Hythe said, continuing to laugh deliriously.

“What’s the joke, huh?” Aeterna asked, grabbing Hythe by the hair, causing her to wince.

“Maxwell – is he just a friend? Or perhaps something more?”

Aeterna punched Hythe. “Don’t be fucking nosy.”

“Oh, so he is something more,” Hythe said. “A lover, perhaps? A boyfriend? A fiancé?”

Aeterna drew back her fist to hit Hythe again. “I said mind your business, bitch.”

“You must love him if you’d torture a politician for him. A Cabinet minister at that. And also…”

“Shut up!”

“What do you think will come of this? Do you think that you’ll magically make me decide to start a catastrophic war with the Martians, who haven’t been proven to have done anything wrong? Do you think that I’ll agree to make him lifetime Emperor of Mars, and you’ll be his consort?”

“I said shut the fuck up!”

“I’ve met many a man like that in my career. You know, you can do so much better. What has he promised you? Riches? Undying love? The usual crap? For God’s sake, Miss Fittone, can’t you see he’s using you?”

Aeterna hit Hythe again. “Don’t you know what shut up means?”

Hythe’s nose began to bleed.

“I bet you don’t even know what the Leviathan system is, do you?”

Aeterna began to waver. “It’s a…orbital superweapon.”

“Oh, very good. But I bet he never told you about what it’s capable of. About the millions that died according to his design. About how many women like you have died because of him. Oh, no, Miss Fittone. I never knew Maxwell’s name. But I didn’t need to. Because Maxwell is a monster that doesn’t need a name. He is a nameless creature whose whole world is violence, and even more pathetically, he is a nobody. And if you stick with him, so will you be.”

Aeterna stood, shaking with impotent rage for a few moments.

“FUCK YOU!” she roared, beating Hythe with a left hook, then a right hook, then another left. Hythe collapsed forward, as if unconscious. Aeterna looked at her, half in fear and half in pity for a moment, thinking she had killed her. Then, Hythe began to laugh again, slowly raising her head.

“Some advice from me to you,” Hythe said, as Aeterna walked over, grabbing her by the shirt, and preparing to hit her again. “Firstly: Don’t ever change for a man. Especially not a man like him. And secondly…”

Hythe snorted, then spat blood into Aeterna’s eyes.

Aeterna screamed in a mixture of disgust and rage, and bent double, wiping her face. It came as a surprise when she felt Hythe’s foot crash down on the back of her neck, knocking her out cold.

“…read my dossier a little more carefully in future,” Hythe said. “Major Erika Hythe. Ex-Terran Special Forces. It’s not just a title, sweetheart.”

Hythe felt her wrists, which had been painfully burned and cut in the process of carefully slipping out of her bonds.

“Christ,” she said. “The Prime Minister is going to kill me.”

*

It was early morning when the vagrant woke up in the bunk bed. Kowalski was sitting on top of the latrine’s lid, with his arms folded and his head down. The vagrant sat up, rubbed his eyes, and looked over at Kowalski, angrily.

“Aw,” the vagrant said. “I’da hoped they woulda shipped you outta here by now, put ya in one o’ those maximum security facilities.”

“Nope,” Kowalski said, pleasantly. “Still here. And, actually, I’m glad you’re awake, ‘cause I got a favour to ask you.”

“You won’t catch me doin’ no favours for no Martian son of a bitch,” the vagrant said. He held up his prosthetic arm. “Not after this.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.”

“You find yourself another Terran stooge, ‘cause you ain’t gettin’ no help from me. I have a mind to knock yer lights out.”

“What’s your name?” Kowalski asked, simply. “Let’s start with that. We never got properly introduced in the spaceport.”

“Oh no, I’m not giving you my name. How do I know you’re not one of them Martian sep’ratists?”

Kowalski reached behind him for an object on a small fold-out surface intended to function as a dining and recreation table, situated, quite disgustingly, next to the latrine. He grabbed hold of two objects, indistinct in the dim morning light, and tossed them at the vagrant, who ducked instinctively. One of them landed on the bed, the other clattered to the floor. The vagrant grabbed the one nearest to him.

It was a chocolate-flavour breakfast bar, made from algae. The vagrant rolled out of the bunk and scrabbled under the bed for the other bar, which was more or less the same.

“You’re givin’ me yer breakfast?”

“I’m not hungry,” Kowalski said. “And I figured you needed it more. Would a terrorist do that?”

“Well, he’d hafta be a real smart terr’rist or a real dumb one.”

Kowalski laughed. “I’m not a terrorist.”

“Like hell you ain’t,” the vagrant growled, tearing open the algae bar and taking a bite. “If you knew how much mez I need just to get through the day, you’d say diff’rent. Okay, let’s say you ain’t a Martian sep’ratist. But you still fought, didn’t you? Still killed men. You’re a terrorist, alright.”

“I agree,” Kowalski said. “I’m not proud of what happened during that war. On Mars, we believed, and believe, that we fought that war for noble reasons. But we know the human cost, too. The lives we tore apart and devastated. The millions slaughtered. Perhaps we’ll never know if we were right or wrong to do what we did. But we destroyed your life, and for that, I apologise, a thousand times. My life, too, was torn apart by that war. I’ve been doing a lot of meditating on it recently. Some healing. I want to make things right. And if you’re willing to help me out, I will.”

The vagrant bit off some of the chewy, chocolate-flavoured algae, and chewed it, as though a cow chewing cud.

“My name is Corporal Brad Partridge,” he said, after a long pause. “40th Infantry Division, Terran Republican Army.”

“Nice to meet you, Brad,” Kowalski said. “Sergeant Ralph Kowalski. 45th Warp Physics Engineers, Martian Insurrectionary Forces.”

“They made you a Sergeant?” Brad said, laughing. “Christ, do fuckin’ Martians just give anybody a rank like that? You look like shit warmed up, boy.”

“I’m flattered,” Kowalski said, smiling.

“Fuckin’ Martians,” Brad scoffed. He deliberated for a moment. “Okay, pal. I’ll trust you just this once. What do you want from me?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Kowalski said.

*

At about ten minutes past seven local time, the guards were alerted to a medical emergency in Cell 92F by means of an alarm panel installed in the cell. They arrived at the cell to find a man with a beard sprawled on the bed. He appeared to be dead. One of the guards, an older man, felt the man’s wrist. No pulse.

“It’s that crazy fucker they picked up in the spaceport,” said one of them, a younger man.

“Yeah, I reckon you’re right,” said the older man. “What a shame.”

“Geez. This cell is occupied by another prisoner. That’s rough, sleeping in the same room as a dead man,” said the younger man.

“He’s lying in bed. We should wake him up. Might even be able to scare the bastard a little.”

The man was laying, apparently curled up under the bedsheets. The two guards looked at each other, and smiled at each other the perverse sort of smile only a person who has been given far too much power for the state of their conscience can smile. The older man climbed up the small ladder to the bunk bed.

“Wake up, Sleeping Beauty,” the older man said, prodding him. “Hey, buddy, get up.” He hoisted himself further up. “Didn’t you hear me? I said get up—”

Suddenly, the dead man launched himself at the younger guard in a tackle, smashing him against the toughened glass.

Simultaneously, the older man wheeled around to see what the commotion was, only to receive a boot to the face, which sent him crashing off the bed and into the table, banging his head on the latrine, leaving his head bleeding. The occupant of the top bunk quickly clambered down and the dead man threw him the younger man’s shock-stick and lanyard.

“I’d say you got about thirty seconds to figure out what the fuck the next part of your plan is,” Brad said, adjusting the prosthetic arm.

Kowalski nodded to him. “It’s been a pleasure, Brad.”

“And the same to you, ya Martian bastard. Now run, you dumb fuck!”

Kowalski took the keycard and opened the door, then ventured out into the hallway.

Got to get out. Get in contact with Mehmet. Find Callie. Stop Maxwell. How hard could it be?

An alarm began to sound, and before Kowalski could even think, his feet were sending him flying down the corridors as if by muscle memory, as other prisoners looked on, jeering.

◯

Hythe padded along the narrow corridors of Maxwell Silva’s ship. She was conscious of the fact that she was leaving bloody footprints behind wherever she walked. First, she had to find out if the ship was docked. If so, she could probably leave through the airlock, call the police and get some help, though she hoped nobody would recognise her. Failing that, she would have to find the ship’s lifeboats – she could jettison herself into space and call for assistance that way, but that also made her a target for the ship’s weapons, and this was a dangerous man she was dealing with.

She came across a door, labelled C&C ROOM – NO UNAUTHORISED PERSONNEL.

“C&C?” she muttered, opening the door. The room was dark, lit only by a red light and a few screens, displaying text and information about the ship’s position in space. She searched for a screen that had a map of the ship on it, perhaps some directions to the nearest airlock in the event of an emergency.

One of the screens was different to the others. Not covered in scrolling text and diagrams, but a simple message in light green text on a black background:

HEY
YOU

Hythe gave it a passing glance, trying momentarily to think what “HEY YOU” might stand for. There was a small beep from the computer, and the screen changed.

TALKING
TO
YOU

Hythe looked at the screen again. “What?”

OPEN
PANEL
TWO

Hythe searched around the room for a panel labelled “2”, and found it after a few seconds. She wrenched it open and found an array of circuit boards protruding from an array of slots. She looked over at the screen. Another bleep, and it changed again.

REMOVE
SECOND
DEVICE

 

Hythe looked at the array, trying to work out which device was meant. She looked over at the screen.

 

ON
THE
LEFT

 

Hythe reached for one, looking over at the screen once again.

 

YOUR
LEFT
GENIUS

 

Hythe rolled her eyes and reached for the second device on the left. She looked over at the screen again.

PULL

 

Hythe did so, wrenching the circuit board out of the socket.

 

GOOD
NOW
RUN

 

There was a soft, droning hum as several of the ship’s screens went red or black, displaying error messages: “DEVICE MISSING”, “TRANSMISSION ERROR”, “REPAIR REQUIRED”, “SEEK ASSISTANCE”.

A soft, female voice came from a speaker in the ceiling:

“Main computer offline. Devices designated CALAIS-A and CALAIS-B have been disconnected. If this was not intentional, please inspect device.”

Hythe realised that the message had gone out to the entire ship.

She began to run.

☾

Mehmet and Christine arrived in Toronto a little after eleven o’clock in the morning, local time. They stepped off the vactrain and on to the platform, where there was crowding.

“What’s going on?” Mehmet asked.

“They’ve closed the station,” said another passenger. “I’m not sure what’s going on. Something about a riot. Nobody gets in or out until the situation is resolved.”

Mehmet looked over at Christine, who didn’t appear to be coping well with the crowding.

“Come on,” he said. “We need to find a way out.”

“That person just said there’s a riot,” Christine said. “I don’t think it’s safe.”

“I’ve been through worse. Take my hand.”

Together they pushed past people crowded on the platform, confused, carrying luggage, gazing up at electronic signs reading “PLEASE REMAIN CALM”. They managed to get to the end of the platform after a couple of minutes. There were police standing at the end of the platform with station staff.

“Alright,” said one of them. “We’re gonna start letting you folks past ten at a time. When you leave the station please make your way to the nearest police checkpoint, where we can find you a place to stay.”

“I’ve got a child with me,” Mehmet shouted. “We need to get her out.”

“You a Martian?” said one of the officers. He appeared to recognise Mehmet.

Mehmet looked at him for a frightening moment. “…yes.”

The officer looked at the others. “That’s not good.”

“What’s not good?” replied one of them.

“We got a Martian here. If the reports about the riots are true, Toronto is not safe for Martians at the moment.”

Mehmet looked back at Christine, who was scrunching her face up and covering her ears in an attempt to escape the noise on the platform.

“Show us out the back,” Mehmet said. “She can’t be here.”

“Alright, sir,” said the first officer, uncertainly. “Come with me.”

The officer turned and beckoned Mehmet and Christine to follow him out through an emergency exit. In the winding corridors of the vactrain station, the crowding situation was not much better.

“Clear the way!” the officer shouted. “Stand aside! Get back! Get back!”

Mehmet put his arm around Christine as they were led through the station through a series of narrowly winding tunnels, before reaching an emergency staircase, which was oddly deserted.

“These stations are about eighty metres underground,” said the policeman. “Get ready to climb.”

They climbed the staircase for the next several minutes, reaching the top, where there was an exit door.

“I have to go back to platform level,” said the policeman, handing them both gas masks. “Try and avoid barricades and find a police checkpoint. And don’t let anyone hear your voice. They’ll know straight away.”

The police officer turned to go back down the steps.

“Wait,” Mehmet said. The officer turned around. “Why are you helping us? You…recognise me, don’t you?”

The officer smiled a little.

“If anyone asks, I didn’t see a damn thing,” he said, in a Martian accent. “Now go, before someone sees you.”

The officer opened the exit door, and the two of them stepped out into an Old Torontonian backstreet, and high above them, the underbelly of Toronto-γ. The officer smiled and closed the door behind them.

“What now?” Christine said.

“We keep our heads down, we find our way to the processing centre, and we get Kowalski out of there.”

“Great,” Christine said, sarcastically. “So how do we do that?”

“We’ll figure it out,” Mehmet said, placing a gas mask over his face. He beckoned her with his head to follow him, and together they went.

◯

Hythe found the lifeboats after some running. The ship was eerily quiet. It didn’t seem quite right. Maxwell should be following me, right? No time to think about it. She clambered into one of them and closed the door, checking behind her as she went. Still nobody. Inside, the lifeboat appeared to be mostly autonomously guided, with a small screen, some very basic manual controls, distress signal and a small, cheap ansible relay probably designed to be used exactly once and never again.

The lights came on inside the cabin and she flipped open the “LAUNCH” button. There was a soft whirr as the doors opened in the side of Maxwell’s ship, and then a sudden jolt of G-force as it was propelled out into space. Hythe immediately switched on the distress signal and the ansible relay.

“Hello, does anybody out there read me? This is the Federal Minister for Martian Affairs, Major Erika Hythe speaking. Does anybody out there copy? I am requesting immediate pickup.”

There were a few moments of silence.

“I read you,” a voice said, fuzzy and buried in static. Cheap piece of shit, Hythe thought.

“Please identify yourself,” Hythe said.

Another silence.

“Do you read? Please identify.”

“You’re…a Federal Minister?”

“Yes.” For fuck’s sake. “I am requesting pickup. Please identify.”

There was a shorter pause now.

“This is the California Dreamin’, Designation Alpha-Ait-Too-Too-Tree-Papa-Papa.”

“I need immediate assistance.”

Another pause.

“Are you really the Federal Minister for Martian Affairs?”

“Yes!” Hythe said, practically shrieking. “Holy Christ!”

“Okay,” the voice on the other end said, warily. “Hold on.”

After a few minutes, a golden ship shaped like a teardrop appeared, and rotated its airlock to attach the lifeboat. The lifeboat had an automated docking system that was able to position accurately, and after a few minutes of pressurisation, Hythe was able to step into the airlock, clutching the circuit board in her hands. She boarded the California Dreamin’.

Standing by the airlock was a man, perhaps ten or so years younger than her, with beard stubble running from his chin to his upper lip. He seemed nervous, even surprised, to see her. He seemed especially surprised to see what she had clutched in her hands.

“Um,” he stammered. “Is that…what I think it is?”

“I don’t know,” Hythe said. “Answer a question for me and I’ll tell you.”

“O-okay.”

“Where in God’s name are we?”

“Well, you just ejected from a ship orbiting Luna,” the young man said.

“Okay, thank you. I have no idea what this piece of junk is, but taking it out of their computer systems seems to have shut it down.”

“Okay, that’s good,” he said. “And bad.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Good, because it’ll take a few minutes to get their guidance and weapons systems operational.”

“And bad because…”

“…because they’re probably tracking the lifeboat you just launched. Which means they know exactly where we are.”

“I see.”

A brief pause.

“That’s bad.”

“I gathered.”

Another pause.

“You seem pretty calm—”

“DO SOMETHING.”

*

Kowalski rounded a corner, and shocked a guard with the shock-stick. The guard gasped in pain and collapsed into a drooling heap on the floor. He’d made it out of the prison wing just before they locked it down, but he still had a ways to go to make it to the exit. He followed the corridor round and found himself at the entrance to the processing center lobby.

He pushed on the door. Locked. He tried the keycard on the guard’s lanyard, but no dice. He spotted a fire alarm button on the wall and broke the glass using the shock-stick, triggering a failsafe that unlocked most of the doors in the main wing automatically while sealing off the prisoners’ wing.

He pushed again against the door and it swung loose. The sprinklers were pouring water into the lobby, and standing in the middle of it was Marsden, leaning on his shock-stick as though it were a cane.

“Hello, Mister Kowalski,” Marsden said. “I see you pulled a little escape act.”

“Yeah, I did,” Kowalski said, smiling. “Lousy staffing you’ve got at these places.”

“If I were you I’d wipe that stupid fucking grin off your face,” Marsden said, angrily. “I warned you. Didn’t I warn you? I told you: Nothing funny. And, credit where it’s due, Mister Kowalski. Terrorism is pretty fucking unfunny to me.”

“That wasn’t me,” Kowalski said. “But of course, you’re not going to believe me.”

“No, I’m not,” Marsden said. “So, here’s what’s going to happen: You’re gonna drop that shock-stick. You’re gonna get down on your knees and put your hands on your head. I’m going to beat the shit out of you. Then I’m gonna put you in cuffs, and put you in solitary confinement, and get a binding fucking court order to ensure that you stay there until you’re too old to remember your own name and you’re pissing through a goddamn catheter. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yeah,” Kowalski said. “But it’s not gonna happen.”

“Have it your way,” Marsden said, readying his shock-stick with a flick of the wrist. “Believe me, Ralph Kowalski, you will remember the name Alfred Marsden for the rest of your life!”

Just then, Marsden felt a tap on his shoulder. Instinctively, he turned around, and a fist connected with his jaw. Marsden collapsed to the ground, concussed.

Mehmet waved his hand in pain from the hit. He was holding a gas mask under his arm. “Who the hell’s this guy?” he asked, turning to Kowalski.

“It’s not important,” Kowalski said. “You here with the kid?”

“Well, we were gonna post your bail, but—”

“Yeah, I think we’d better get movin’. Lot of cameras in this place. How is it out there?”

“Bad,” Mehmet said. “There’s police checkpoints everywhere. Apparently there was a riot. They set the Federal Ministry for Martian Affairs on fire. At least one public servant’s dead. The Minister’s gone missing.”

“Helluva day,” Kowalski said.

They turned to walk out. Kowalski thought momentarily about throwing the shock-stick away, but looked at Marsden laying prone on the floor, shook his head and took it with him. The pitter-patter of water from the sprinklers sounded like rain on a greenhouse, and faded away into silence as they walked away unseen by a police force that was altogether distracted by more important things.

To be continued…