The Belt, page 1
Books by Dale E. Lehman
Howard County Mysteries
The Fibonacci Murders
True Death
Ice on the Bay
A Day for Bones
Bernard and Melody Capers
Weasel Words
Other Novels
Space Operatic
The Belt
Short Story Collections
The Realm of Tiny Giants
Found by the Road
The Belt
Dale E. Lehman
Chase, Maryland
The Belt
Dale E. Lehman
Copyright © 2023 by Dale E. Lehman
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. All the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this book are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Cover art by Proi
https://99designs.com/profiles/proi
Book design by Dale E. Lehman
Book set in 12-pt. Callisto MT
Chapter headings set in 18-pt. Consolas
Published by Red Tales, 2023
Baltimore, Maryland
United States of America
https://www.DaleELehman.com
Trade paperback: 978-1-958906-04-0
Ebook: 978-1-958906-05-7
For Samara: keep on venturing dauntless through this Belt.
Chapter 1
Target acquired.
Someone big wanted this, someone rich, someone hiding behind a trail of shadow contacts and laundered currency. He knew but didn’t care, not until he saw the target. Now he cared. A lot. Because it made no sense. He hesitated while crimson lights blinked in the darkened rover and fire control chirped at him, awaiting his command.
Target acquired.
His contact—a radical environmentalist, she claimed, although he knew she wasn’t—hadn’t told him about the target. She’d only given him coordinates and equipment and a simple instruction: destroy what you find. But a drone could have torched this structure with less risk, certainly with less expense. Why offer Alejandro Carrasco—a cut-rate Belt mercenary, an outlaw who hadn’t dared set boot on Mars in thirteen years—cash enough to buy a whole damned asteroid for this?
Target acquired.
Half a kilometer distant, a chrome sphere gleamed in the sun, a metal star fallen to the rocky red plain of Acidalia Planitia. Enlarged on the vid panel before Alejandro, black figures branded on the structure’s curvature identified it: HYDRO STATION 68N 44W.
Why hire him to roast a hydro station?
Target acquired.
It had to be a trap. But why? The bounty on Alejandro’s head wasn’t that impressive. Who would go to such trouble just to nab him?
Nobody, that’s who. This was paranoia, probably, but he locked his faceplate and pressurized his bulky white envirosuit anyway, just in case. The vid panels arrayed before him showed his surround, fore and aft, port and starboard, overhead. Nothing moved, nothing breathed, nothing bore witness but the hydro station and the dead surface of Mars. He couldn’t even see himself on the interior camera. His smoky black faceplate obscured his visage. He might have been a robot.
Target…
“Fire.” He spoke as much to shut the machine up as to complete his mission.
On screen, a dart of white smoke lanced the structure. An instant later, the hydro station erupted in scarlet flame. Brilliant light illuminated Alejandro’s visor, revealing a flash of his face, lean and bearded, before lack of oxygen snuffed the flames, leaving a pillar of black smoke rising above a pile of ruin.
He eyed the panels, tense, wondering when the ambush would come, from where, what form it would take. If they wanted the reward, they wouldn’t immolate him. They’d need a body part or two for DNA samples, which meant boots on the ground, at least to collect the evidence.
He stared at Mars and the sky and the smoke spreading on the thin wind. Still nothing.
Maybe the job was legit, after all. He wouldn’t celebrate prematurely, but if he made the thirty-eight kilometers to the extraction point without incident, he’d leave Mars behind, this time for good. He’d collect his fortune, disappear into the Belt, maybe change his name once more, and retire to a life of ease on some affluent station. Not bad for uttering a single word.
Fire.
The soft arch of the Milky Way streamed above the transparent dome, riven by dark lanes. Where the heavens touched land, starlight framed shadows of distant hills. Beneath the dome, yellow and orange flickers of artificial fire illuminated the faces of the five seated on the floor about it, four mid-twenties, one mid-forties, all immersed in meditative silence.
The young, having feasted on success and their host’s generous table, settled into companionable peace to contemplate their futures. Their elder let them savor the feeling a moment longer. They’d completed the initial analysis of their find and knew what it meant: their one small rock would change humanity’s view of the universe forever.
If word ever got out.
It might not. A warning whispered in Dr. Miguel Hernandez’s ear three hours before made it unlikely. He stood on the edge of a precipice, escape routes cut off. He could only jump and hope for the best. He’d come to terms with that. His fears tonight were not for himself but his students.
The moment passed, and he spoke. “I miss real fire.”
Three of the youth looked amused, the other bemused.
The latter, Ricard Fulbert, said, “Rapid exothermic processes are dangerous, not to mention a waste of oxygen.” He wasn’t joking. Tall and wiry, Ricard never quite got humor, particularly not his own inadvertent variety. How could a Frenchman be so serious? But then, he wasn’t truly French, was he? None of them were quite what their parents had been.
The others snickered. Quan Linh joked, “Then you’d better throttle back your brain, Ricard.” Lihn was the sun to Ricard’s shade, a Vietnamese woman barely five foot high clothed in smiles and laughter.
Ricard raised questioning eyebrows.
Grinning, Martin Ulenga explained. “Linh means you’re thinking too hard, which is a problem she doesn’t generally have.” Martin was black velvet, the son of Namibian diplomats who had foregone Earth’s shriveled politics for the newness of Mars.
“Be nice, Martin,” his twin sister Petrina said. She’d led the way into the world when they were born and never let him forget her slight seniority.
Miguel smiled and smoothed his beard. He would miss this. That was the main reason he’d invited them to his home tonight. They were his fountain of youth, preserving him against encroaching age, a wine that dulled the aching memory of another child, long lost to him. But this was his last draught. Time settled heavy upon his shoulders, and the cup must pass from his hands.
Ricard parried the ribbing. “Ignore the children, professor. What’s so special about real fire?”
Miguel gazed into the false flame. “Fire is alive, a dance of light, a crackling symphony. The sting of wood smoke in your nostrils forges new memories and summons old ones. It’s more than chemistry. It’s magic. No, more than magic. Fire—real fire—is spirit.”
Petrina laughed. “Who stole Dr. Hernandez and left us a mystic?”
“Not you, too,” Linh chided. “Ignore her, Professor. Your lectures are brilliant.”
Miguel wanted them to go on and on. Let them pepper each other with foam darts, let them be young all through this final night. But time grew short.
“You’ve never seen real fire,” he said. “You’re first-generation Martians. I’m just an invasive species.” A species, he didn’t tell them, slated for eradication. “But more than that, you’re the brightest minds I’ve ever taught.”
The students beamed at each other. Ribbing aside, they knew their brilliance, and each other’s.
Miguel’s gaze swept over them. “Always remember that. But remember, too, that it comes with a cost. I must ask something of you.”
Petrina leaned forward, eager to prove her worth. “Anything, Professor. Just name it.”
“Something you won’t like.”
Martin seconded his sister’s enthusiasm. “We trust you.”
They were sprinters poised for the starter pistol, unaware he was dispatching them to Marathon and might die ere they arrived.
“Leave Mars. Go out beyond the Belt. Ganymede, Callisto, Titan. You know the most likely places. Go while there’s still time.”
The thin Martian wind brushed the transparent dome.
Ricard found his voice first. “What about our paper? The research preserve?”
“There won’t be a research preserve.”
“But…the Meridiani microfossils! How can you…” Ricard looked to the others, but none could finish the thought. Miguel’s command had been a knockout blow to their skulls.
Miguel leaned toward the fire and stretched forth a hand to feel its feeble warmth. “I’m not abandoning our research. This find is too important. But the truth is, nobody cares right now. Nobody but us. Mayor Rand’s ambition takes no account of scientific values. A colonization
He watched them chew on this news and find it bitter, but there was worse to come.
On the verge of tears, Linh asked, “Aren’t you coming with us?”
“No. I’ve been fighting this battle longer than you know. Metaphorically speaking, I’ve broken Rand’s nose one time too many. Dr. Lloyd sent word that come morning, I’ll be branded an outlaw.”
They all knew what that meant. Outlaw. Outside the law and its protection. No due process, no trial, no nothing, just a bounty anyone could claim by killing Miguel on sight. Rarely used, the brand had only ever been applied to the worst of the worst, the few thugs who threatened the existence of the colony. Thugs like…
No. Miguel wouldn’t think of him. Not here, not now.
“On what charges?” Ricard demanded.
“Charges aren’t necessary. That said, someone destroyed a hydro station this morning. They claim I did it.”
“Where were you at the time?” Martin asked. “You must have an alibi.”
Miguel dared not reveal that. He came to Mars to escape his sins only to fall again. He’d rather face life in exile, even death, than demolish his students’ faith in him. Soon, that might be all they had. “I’m afraid not.”
Petrina shivered and hugged herself as though the deep cold of the Martian wilderness had infiltrated her bones. “What will you do?”
“The only thing I can,” he said. “Hide.”
Ricard ran a hand through his wavy brown hair. “There’s no place to hide on Mars.”
Everyone always said so, but Miguel knew otherwise. He could but hope he was still welcome.
A safe house waited along the way.
Two and a half hours east of Lowell Colony, isolated, built into the side of a rise, the house’s rusty façade blended with the slope, rendering it all but invisible save to those who knew where to look. The rising sun had just kissed its face when Miguel arrived. He paused to admire this epitome of architectural art, knowing the treasures he’d find within. With twice the space of the average Martian dwelling, this home could have been an art gallery, appointed with the finest furnishings, exotic plants, paintings, and sculptures, all lit by unseen light tunnels that set the place aglow. And the owner? She was a work of art, too.
Miguel knew the access code. Stashing his rover in the garage beneath the main floor, he entered, dodging the cleaning robots humming about the soft green and blue gathering room. He needn’t announce himself. She’d know he was here. He clasped his hands behind his back and stood in contemplation before a twisted sculpture of pure silver that pulsed with light. He hadn’t noticed before, but in outline the piece resembled…
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Yes. Her.
“Hiding,” he said.
“Not here, not anymore. Andre might find out.”
Miguel didn’t mind her theatrics. She was a politician’s wife, after all. The politician’s wife. He turned and smiled at Carmen Rand, first lady of Lowell Colony, first lady of Mars. “How? I won’t tell him, and neither will you.”
He gathered her into his arms—or tried to. She pushed away and crossed to a small bar on the far side of the room. Crystal rang as she set out two glasses and poured a pale rose concoction. Keeping one for herself, she offered the other to Miguel. “I ought to alert him right now.”
“While you’re at it, tell him where I was yesterday.”
“Bastard.”
He drank to that. “Please, Carmen. Just one night.” He kissed her on the lips.
She indulged him a second before backing away. “You’ve ruined your career. You’re not ruining mine.”
He laughed. “My career?”
“I was being gentle, but fine. Your life.”
“Which is why I need to drop out of sight.”
Carmen sat on the sofa and crossed her perfect legs. Her mouth signaled severity, her eyes humor. “Just because Andre never stages events here doesn’t mean he won’t find you.”
“How? This is your hermitage, not his. Isn’t that why he built you the place? So you could be alone?” Miguel sat close. Their thighs touched.
“The house might be bugged.”
“For God’s sake, Carmen.”
“Don’t you know what’s happening?”
How could he not? He and Andre Rand had been on collision course for a decade. Miguel drove hard to sequester Sinus Meridiani for research, but the qualities that made it the place to seek evidence of life also made it the place to live. Neither man had taken evasive action. Inevitably they’d crash, and only one could survive. Odds were, it wouldn’t be the scientist.
Miguel took a drink. Carmen leaned her head on his shoulder. Her dark hair lay soft against his cheek. “The agreements funding Schiaparelli Colony were concluded yesterday. A year from now, Meridiani will be half buried in concrete and steel. Why do you think Andre picked today to brand you outlaw?”
“That explains the timing,” he said, “but it’s not a total surprise. Word of my status upgrade leaked out yesterday. I’ll only stay the night. I promise.” He touched her cheek. “I don’t want you in trouble.”
She stroked his fingers before pushing his hand away and sitting upright. “You don’t get it, do you? You think he doesn’t know about us? He’ll use me to take you down.”
Miguel didn’t doubt it. “He set me up.”
“Damn right he did. Brilliantly. A half-second vid clip of your face, or somebody similar. It was convincing.” She ran a finger along the line of his jaw. Her eyes said she wanted him, until she slapped him. Hard.
He flinched but didn’t protest. He deserved it. “I heard. But you know where I was.”
She shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. Either way, Andre knows you’ll come to me.”
“Then why isn’t Security hiding behind the sculptures?”
“I don’t expect he figured you’d show so soon. Whoever leaked the info, Andre will have their head on a spike.”
Miguel figured Dr. Lloyd knew how to keep his mouth shut. At least, he hoped so.
“And,” Carmen added, “once he knows you’re here, he’ll have me distract you until his thugs can rush in and truss you up.”
“Would you?”
“Hell, yes. That’s why you’re leaving. Death doesn’t appeal to me.”
“Come on, Andre wouldn’t kill you.”
“Damn idiot, aren’t you?” She took his head in her hands and kissed him long and hard. He about drove her down onto the couch, but she pushed him away before he could. “It’s been fun, Miguel. I don’t regret a minute of it. But we both know it was greedy sport, and now the game’s over. Get out of my house before I call the cops.” She rose, took his half-empty glass from him, and vanished into the kitchen.
Water swished and glass clinked.
He left before Carmen could return.
Crouched on a plain in the south of Acidalia Planitia, far from the craters and ancient mud volcanoes of the region’s interior, Lowell Colony hosted most everything human on Mars. The colony had grown over thirty-seven years from a single lab to a city of more than twenty-five thousand. Sealed walkways and transport tubes connected a hive of hexagonal, cylindrical, and spherical structures, some burrowed into the rust, some perched upon it, some half buried. Where they protruded, the low, broad profiles of the older structures flowed into the ruddy soil. Within the hive’s warrens huddled the hospital that birthed you, healed you, and eased you into death; the fields and orchards and stockyards that fed you; the schools that prepared you for a life of service to spacefaring humanity; and the university that, if you were deemed sufficiently gifted, offered a chance at something more.
