Mars Rising (Domeworld Saga Book 1) Page 15

  His fingers grew huge and swallowed the view for a moment. Fabric rustled and sight returned, a first-person perspective. Joseph's hands grasped a computer tablet, flicked through a series of pictures, and then touched the face of Richard Barnes. A moment later, the real-life Barnes appeared on the screen, eyes narrowed.

  "This had better not be about the variables again, Britain."

  "Sir, I just want to reiterate that the ripple effect of your next move could throw the entire civilian population toward a revolt." Joseph's voice trembled with anxiety. "If that happens, we might not be able to turn it around."

  Barnes snarled. "You're ignoring the computer models again, Britain. This will galvanize the population, not lead it into revolt."

  "But I proved it—"

  "You proved nothing." Barnes's jaw tightened. "Go through with the variable injections or I will replace you on this project."

  "I won't do it—not yet," Joseph said. "We need peer review by Kearns or Alderman first."

  The administrator's face went flat. "Very well, Britain. You'll get your peer review."

  "Thank you, sir!" The frantic notes in Britain's voice faded. "I'll get right on it tomorrow morning."

  "Bring the request by my office in the morning and I'll sign it," Barnes said. "Good night." The video flickered off.

  "Well, that went a lot better than I expected," Britain said. The view shifted as he leaned back and let out a long sigh. "I'm really proud of myself. I usually wimp out when confronted."

  A cat meowed, and the view turned to find a gray tabby. "You hear that, Whiskers? Your daddy pushed back against Barnes and he won!"

  Whiskers meowed.

  For a while Britain petted his cat in silence, then abruptly said, "Oh, damn, almost forgot." Fingers enveloped the view and the screen went black.

  Scarlett stared at her reflection on blank screen. Her mouth hung open and frightened eyes looked back. She should be scared. Max had suspected they were all lab rats, but these people were playing god with the civilian lives in City 7. Even more troubling—did Barnes have something to do with Britain's death?

  She backed up the video and looked at the hard lines on Barnes's face. His flat voice and expressionless face indicated he was probably telling Britain what he wanted to hear about the peer review. Scarlett had seen that look on Max's face before when he'd argued with Simmons and finally given into the inevitability of what came next.

  Barnes had given up trying to convince Britain. He'd arrived at a decision but not the one he told his lead scientist. Scarlett stared at those dead eyes, flat lips, smooth forehead, and certainty solidified in her gut. It was then she noticed Barnes's bald pate ringed with a crown of straight black hair and Aaron Vale's description of the lab coat in the toughsuit firmly snapped another puzzle piece into place.

  Barnes had been the one talking to Daryl Smith.

  Smith had been an hour early to his shift, according to Vale. The reason, Scarlett concluded, was because he'd been told to meet Barnes. A moving picture formed in her mind all too clear.

  After ending the call with Britain, Barnes contacts Daryl Smith and tells him to meet the next morning in the brassworks, tells him what needs to be done. The next day, Joseph Britain comes to Barnes's office, the peer review form in hand. The administrator comes up with an excuse to get Britain down in the lower garage. He knocks out Britain with a stunner, thus the burn mark on the back of the neck.

  Barnes hauls Britain into the brassworks and meets with Smith. Britain wakes up, tries to escape. Smith punches him in the stomach and hits him over the head with a wrench. They position Britain in front of the pipe, but Smith knows the victim will jerk awake the minute the steam hisses into his face and try to run. Or maybe Smith doesn't want Britain to suffer. Either way, he uses a knife he brought with him and slashes the victim's throat, placing the body near a grate so the blood will drain without a trace.

  Smith turns off the steam, punches a hole in the pipe and turns it on, thinking the steam will eradicate the knife wounds. Afterward, he talks to Barnes then the two part ways.

  Barnes returns to the science campus, obstacle removed from his true goal.

  Scarlett thought back to her meeting with Simmons, Alderman, and Kearns. Barnes should have been there, but he wasn't. Barnes didn't care about stopping the insurgents. In fact, he wanted the movement to grow and fester until it exploded. Unless he'd armed the civvies, they'd be slaughtered. If the town exploded into riots, it could mean thousands would die.

  "Why?" she asked aloud. "Why in the dome would Barnes want this?"

  She thought back to the ride from the brassworks and replayed the moment when Simmons said, "Another insurgency. How delightful."

  Another. It had happened before but no one remembered. Either it had been wiped from collective memory or—" Alderman's words echoed in her head. "Starting over is a last resort."

  Ice congealed in the pit of her stomach.

  Scarlett suddenly felt sick. Acid burned the back of her throat. She raced into the bathroom and dry heaved into the sink, producing only a glimmering thread of saliva. If the civvies truly were subjects of an experiment, then starting over meant wiping the dome clean of them.

  For some awful reason, Barnes wanted this experiment to fail. He wanted to start over. The whys of his reasoning didn't matter a bit.

  All the speculation in the world was irrelevant if Scarlett couldn't prove this to Simmons and Alderman. She had to bring in Daryl Smith. If he'd been the accomplice, his testimony and the recording on Britain's data pearl might be enough. Alderman himself said starting over was a last resort. Surely they'd want to know and stop Barnes from completing the plan.

  But would the powers that be allow Scarlett to live with this knowledge?

  Probably not. But with so many lives on the line, she had to do something to stop Barnes.

  Either way, she couldn't bring in Smith by herself, especially not with just a bladewheel for transportation. She had to convince Simmons to make the arrest and then tell him why afterward.

  Scarlett paced for several minutes, trying to figure out her next move. The task before her seemed monumental. Would Simmons even care if she could prove it? He might simply kill her and deal with Barnes internally.

  She hadn't found Britain's epad in the house, so she didn't have any easy way to contact the investigator. Actually, come to think of it, she did. Scarlett rinsed her mouth with water, briefly wondering if it came out of her rations or Britain's, then went into the bedroom and picked up her badge and the stunner, putting the latter in her right pocket.

  Someone rapped on her door—probably Melissa with more information. Scarlett stuffed the badge in her pocket and walked down the hall. The door clicked open before she reached it. Instead of the neighbor, Richard Barnes stepped inside, a small blaster gleaming in his hand.

  He quickly shut the door and put a finger to his lips. Before Scarlett could react, he stepped up to her, pressing the blaster into her stomach. Without saying a word, he reached into her right pocket, pulled out the stunner and tossed it into the den. His hand dug into her left pocket and manipulated the badge. He removed his hand, something pinched in his fingers, and backed away a few feet.

  How did he know I had those in my pocket?

  Obviously, Barnes had put his own surveillance devices in this house, probably to make sure nothing incriminating him was found.

  Barnes dipped into his pocket and withdrew a small black box. It clicked open, and he pressed Simmons's surveillance device inside. He snapped the box shut and stuffed it into his pocket. "You've gotten yourself into a messy situation, Deputy Flynn. It's time we had a little talk."

  "I don't reckon you want to just talk," Scarlett said, taking a step back. Her stomach fluttered and the room seemed to spin. She looked at the blaster, hoping it might just be a stunner, but she couldn't tell.

  "You're right. I don't." Barnes fired the blaster.

  Scarlett hadn't figured on him firing so s
oon, but she'd already started diving sideways anyway. The bright red bolt exploded against something in the hall about the time her head bounced off the kitchen table. Staggering to her knees, she frantically clawed her way across the tile floor and under the table. Never in her life had she been in a blaster fight, but she'd practiced firing the six-shooters Max used to have and knew they could burn a hole through her body in an instant.

  Barnes would be in the kitchen in a matter of seconds, and she had nowhere to hide. Her senses finally came back to her. Scarlett bumped into a chair and considered throwing it, but a better option had already hit her on the head.

  She flipped over the table just as another bolt exploded against the wall behind her, leaving a burning hole in the wall. The odor of burnt wood stung Scarlett's nose. This table was solid wood—not presswood—but it wouldn't hold up.

  "Don't fight the inevitable," Barnes said. "Planck tried, but you see what happened to him."

  Scarlett slid to her left, then lashed out and kicked a chair the opposite way, sending it skidding across the floor. Blaster bolts whined past, splintering the chair and blasting holes in the cabinets behind it. Utensils clanged to the floor. Scarlett dove through the door to the den. She rolled across the floor and grabbed the stunner Barnes had thrown there earlier.

  It wasn't much, but it was all she had. She thought of going for the door, but Barnes's feet clopped down the hall. Scarlett leapt over the couch, bounced off the wall, and landed on her stomach.

  Red bolts punched through the fabric just above her head, sending foul smelling smoke into the air. She heard a click and something clattered on the floor. Barnes was changing the battery. She sprang up and fired. The stunner hit Barnes in the ribs just as he clicked the battery in place. He cried out and squeezed off a shot. Scarlett's left shoulder felt as though it had just burst into flame.

  She screamed and dropped the stunner so she could pat out the fire on her sleeve. The blaster bolt had just grazed her skin but it felt like someone had pressed red-hot metal to her flesh. Barnes groaned and grasped for the blaster. Scarlett climbed over the couch to kick it away, but he squeezed the trigger and a bolt flashed past her head.

  There was no time to dive behind the couch again, so she ran back into the kitchen and pried at the window. It didn't budge.

  "I should thank you," Barnes shouted from the den. "This is the most alive I've felt in years."

  The man had obviously lost his mind. Scarlett gave up on opening the window and looked for something to break it. She saw a meat tenderizer and grabbed it. Barnes groaned again but a blaster shot through the door kept Scarlett from running back in to make another try for the stunner.

  The heavy metal tenderizer bounced off the window, not even leaving a scratch, and Scarlett realized it wasn't ordinary glass. A bolt exploded against the cabinet. She spun, saw Barnes staggering through the door from the den and reflexively threw the utensil at him.

  It smacked his head with a meaty slap and the administrator went down hard, blaster bouncing off the floor. She leaned down, hands searching the pile of utensils and found a stainless steel knife.

  Barnes sat up, his hand reaching for the blaster. Adrenalin roared through Scarlett's blood. A shriek erupted from her throat as the man brought the weapon to bear. Deputy Flynn flung herself at the man. The collision knocked him back to the floor. She straddled him. Her arms swung up and down, up and down, desperation blinding her, a primal scream ripping from her throat. Hot liquid splashed on her face, in her mouth, across her arms.

  Scarlett stopped and stared at the bloody mess she'd made of Administrator Barnes's chest and the knife clattered to the floor.

  He coughed up blood and leered at her with a gruesome smile. "At last," he said. "It's fucking over."

  "Why?" Scarlett cried out. "Why did you want the civvies to revolt?"

  A gurgling laugh erupted in a fountain of crimson. "Humans will never become"—he gasped for air—"what they want." A last breath rasped from his throat, and Administrator Barnes shuddered into stillness.

  Chapter 18

  Scarlett tried to stand and slipped, landing hard on her back in the pool of blood. Nausea crept up her throat in a knot of revulsion. She rolled to her side and heaved. Barnes's blood bubbled from her nose and she gagged even harder. It was a good thing she hadn't eaten a proper meal all day or the sight of vomit in the blood would make her even sicker.

  Somehow, she got to her knees and crawled, leaving crimson tracks behind her. When she reached the hallway she was finally able to think again, despite the coppery odor overwhelming her nose.

  The investigation was over, the primary culprit dead on the kitchen floor of the man he'd had murdered earlier in the day. Justice might have been served, but this wouldn't end here. Simmons would still want the heads of the insurgents, and it would all end with Scarlett feeding.

  She leaned against the wall, closed her eyes and thought. In the end, the only plan she came up with would probably leave her every bit as dead as reporting the truth to Simmons, but she was determined to die on her own terms.

  Is this how Max felt?

  Scarlett had been surprised to see Max pull blasters from his jacket just before Marshal Garth subdued him. The constable planned to die all along, but not before he took down Alderman and the others with him.

  Barnes was dead by her hand, but Scarlett had no illusions about assassinating the governor or his men. It was time to take a new route.

  Joseph Britain's shower was amazing. It jetted hot water instead of dribbling lukewarm liquid, and washed the blood from Scarlett's hair and skin. She lingered a moment longer, enjoying a luxury for once instead of counting the cost from her rations, then dried with a fluffy towel she found in the sink cabinet. Considering where she was going, none of this would do her much good, but Scarlett grabbed a duffel bag from the closet and stuffed toiletries in it, then went into the kitchen, studiously avoiding the dead man on the floor, and tossed dried goods inside.

  She packed Britain's clothes since they fit her decently, and dressed in slacks and a shirt. Scarlett set the duffel bag in the foyer and returned to the kitchen for the most unpleasant task of the evening. Using couch cushions to bridge the pool of blood, she dug in Barnes's pocket and removed the black box.

  Steeling her nerves, she took the limp hand of the administrator and positioned it flat on the floor. With a savage chop of a large knife, she brought it down on his thumb just below the knuckle. The flesh parted, but the bone resisted the sharp edge. Pressing down, one hand on the hilt, the other on the blunt side of the blade, she worked it back and forth until bone cracked and the digit split free of its host.

  Cold sweat trickled down her forehead, its companion a queasy twisting in her guts. Scarlett wrapped the thumb in a washrag and backed away, deep breaths the only thing staving off another round of the heaves. Room spinning around her, she pushed to her feet and steadied herself on the door jamb.

  One part was done, but more risk lay ahead. A dark future waited, no matter the outcome. Trembling, she backed away from the body. She didn't want to eat, but knew she needed strength for the final run to that unsure fate she'd chosen.

  After munching on fruit from the fridge, and a tall glass of milk, Scarlett felt somewhat refreshed and ready to go. She put on one of Britain's lab coats, shouldered the duffel bag, and walked outside. The dome had already gone dark, but street lamps lit the path ahead. An electric cart waited on the road—Barnes had provided her a better ride than the bladewheel, but she set the unicycle in the back seat just in case.

  Scarlett turned the vehicle and headed to the main road, taking a left toward the campus. A few people walked near the pond, enjoying nature and the night like few civvies could. Scarlett returned a wave from a man walking a dog.

  He grinned and watched her go by. "Making a late night of it?" he asked.

  "No rest for the weary," she replied, forcing a cheerful grin.

  He chuckled. "Not around here."


  Scarlett looked over her shoulder once and saw the man continuing happily on his way, unaware or unconcerned with the plight of the civvies a couple of miles away. This entire campus might as well have had its own dome for the way its denizens thought of the workers who kept this paradise watered, powered, and fed.

  The cart passed between the towering buildings, their insides still lit as though they had all the power rations in the world. She saw a woman looking out of a window on the first floor, a large mug in her hand. Even the work here passed for leisure. The tires squealed on the concrete as Scarlett wound the cart down the ramp and into the underground deck where Simmons had outfitted her earlier.

  A lone marshal, walking ahead, turned and glanced at her then resumed his path. Scarlett waited until he turned a corner then got in the lift. She removed the rag with the thumb from her pocket. Holding her breath, she pressed the print against the red eye. The lift shifted upward. Unlike earlier, no one was in the weapons lab, so she used the thumb to open the door to the weapons locker and quickly glided inside.

  Barnes's digit opened the weapons drawer. Scarlett grabbed a rifle, a pistol, holsters, and a handful of batteries, shoving them into the duffel. She wanted to look through all the lockers, but time was too precious to risk it. She peeked outside, saw no one in sight and took the lift back down to the underground garage.

  The marshal still hadn't returned from his rounds, so Scarlett crept two doors down where she found the blue toughsuits and selected one in her size. The zipper had a tight rubber seal on the inside, much better than the loose gasket in the orange toughsuits. The corresponding bubble helmet sat on a shelf above the suit. She took it and a handful of micro-breathers, each boasting a labeled duration of four hours.

  "What am I doing?" Scarlett froze in place. Her plan seemed like total madness. Had Sarah Planck truly known of sanctuary in the red wasteland? The instant Scarlett breached the second airlock door, someone here on campus would be notified. After that, there would be no going back.