Mariner Valley: Travails of Space Colonization

By James Crawford

Combining the very best elements of hard science fiction with a suspenseful, action filled manhunt, this novel is an exotic adventure set in a future colonial Mars. Following a trail of destruction across the remote outposts of the Martian wastelands, police vigilantes are eager to exact revenge on a gang of hardened criminals who are desperate

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Crawford
• Release date: Jan 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9780578834207

James Crawford

James Crawford is a writer and broadcaster. His first major book, Fallen Glory: The Lives and Deaths of History’s Greatest Buildings was shortlisted for the Saltire Literary Award for best non-fiction. His other books include Who Built Scotland: 25 Journeys in Search of a Nation, Scotland’s Landscapes and The Edge of the Plain: How Borders Make and Break Our World. His most recent book is Wild History: Journeys into Lost Scotland. In 2019 he was named as the Archive and Records Association’s first-ever 'Explore Your Archives' Ambassador. He lives in Edinburgh.

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Mariner Valley

By James Crawford

Copyright 2012

By James Crawford

All rights reserved.

Cover art created by Wojtek Kapusta.

To Vickie, With Love

Mariner Valley

I think that most of the people of this country do not understand the enormous opportunities that are now at hand with the establishment of the settlements at Chryse Planitia, Sacra Fossa, Candor Chasma and the other small research sites. What we are talking about here is an entire world to be explored. The short-term gains will be found in the vast mineral and energy resources that are available, but the long-term gains will be found with the terraforming of the planet itself. Right now, planetary engineers from all over this world are working, primarily in the Polar Regions, to make Mars a world suitable for life from Earth. A few decades from now, within the lifetimes of some of our viewers today, men and women from Earth will walk on the surface of Mars, among plants and trees and animals, without the aid of a spacesuit.

This is a reality. It’s going on as I speak. And the nation that makes the largest investments on Mars now will reap the largest rewards when that time comes.

- National Address of John C. Weyburn

Governor of the American Settlements on Mars

All I want is to see a blue sky. That’s not too much to ask, is it? I think that most people here have forgotten what a blue sky looks like.

- Benjamin O’Ryan

Police Officer at Chryse Settlement

Mariner_map_rev

Chapter 1

Attack at Ln

Dr. William Mauldin, Seismologist and Chief Project Scientist for the Mars-CORE project at Ln (pronounced El-en) Crater Seismological Station walked down the hall to the communications module. He wore a thick wool sweater and held a large mug of coffee in his hand. He had been poring over spread- sheets of data all morning and needed a break. There was nothing more to do until he could retrieve more samples, which was impossible in the howling dust storm outside.

He stepped through the open door of the module and saw Mike Disher at one of the computer terminals. He walked over and stood next to the technician. Disher looked up as he approached.

Hey, Dr. Bill. Howzit going?

Okay, I suppose. I’m getting a little stir crazy, though.

You’re wanting to get back to the site?

Yes. When we’re cooped up for too long I get antsy.

I know what you mean. I was supposed to go into Chryse yesterday. I’ve got a week off coming to me.

Will they push it back?

If they don’t, I will.

Dr. Mauldin smiled and nodded. How long are we supposed to be under this storm anyway?

I don’t know. Disher pushed his rolling chair to an adjoining desk and picked up a piece of paper. Then he rolled back and handed it to Dr. Mauldin. This report came in over the land-line. Apparently there’s a clear front moving over Noctis Labrynthus heading northeast, but they didn’t say how fast it was coming.

Dr. Mauldin glanced over the paper. Are you able to get anything over the radio?

No, not a thing. Much of this dust is ferrous and it ruins the reception.

I see. He motioned to the computer screen. What have you got here?

Just a game. I’m a Spanish Conquistador exploring the New World. I’ve got to deal with the natives, forage for food, find gold mines, and establish bases. It’s quite involved.

I’ll bet. What’s that lump on the map?

"That’s a supply cache. It was a fort but the people starved out. That’s the pain of it. The people in the bases won’t farm, raise cattle, hunt or forage. They are totally dependent on the supplies I bring them."

Huh! Sounds like us.

Yes, it does, Disher said. You should try it sometime.

I think I will, if this storm doesn’t let up. Dr. Mauldin took a drink of his coffee. It was still very hot and he felt its warmth in his stomach. He walked over to the window and looked out at the swirling clouds of dust and sand. His eyes could just barely make out the ridgeline that formed the rim of the crater. He was about to step away from the window when he noticed a set of four headlights coming in over the North Pass. He watched as the vehicle made the sharp left turn and followed the path that ran down the inner slope of the rim to the crater floor.

Is that a coach coming in? he asked Disher.

Disher got up and walked quickly to the window. No. There shouldn’t be anything moving in this soup.

As they watched, the vehicle stopped about fifty yards from the complex and switched on a searchlight. The beam illuminated the red dust and began to feel its way slowly over the low buildings. It stopped when it got to the communications module and paused there.

What’s he doing? Dr. Mauldin asked.

Maybe he’s lost. Disher picked up a radio microphone and spoke into it. This is the radio shack at Ln Station calling the vehicle with the searchlight. Who are you and how can we help you?

The only reply was static.

That’s strange, Disher said.

He’s moving, Dr. Mauldin said.

The vehicle rolled forward a little, stopped again, and then began moving quickly, turning to face the communications module.

What the hell? Disher said. He picked up the microphone again. Hey, asshole, look out! You’re going to hit the building!

The vehicle bore down on the complex, rapidly closing the distance between them. The rumble of its engine could now faintly be heard through the thick walls, overpowering even the wind outside. The rumble got louder.

He’s going to ram us, Dr. Mauldin said.

Shit! Disher shouted. He ran over to the desk and activated the Emergency Depressurization Alarm. All over the complex the airtight doors began to close. It would be too late for the radio shack, but maybe the rest would be spared.

With his eyes fixed to the incoming headlights and his hand still holding the coffee mug, Dr. Mauldin backed away from the window. The vehicle was like a huge roaring animal with bright, white eyes, lunging to eat him. Instinctively he drew in and held his breath as the vehicle crashed the wall in.

Chapter 2

Ben’s Last Day

The light of the morning sun was barely noticeable on the plains called Chryse in the northern hemisphere of the fourth planet after being filtered through the wild torrents of sand and dust raised by the late-season wind storm that buffeted Mars during its perihelion, or closest approach to the sun on its elliptical orbit. The perihelic dust storm, classified global only seven days before, was slowly but steadily subsiding. It had at one point covered eighty-two percent of the surface of Mars and was the type that could even be detected on Earth as a discoloration when viewed from most amateur telescopes. The winds, sometimes gusting to over two hundred and fifty miles per hour, would scour the rocky surface and sandblast any topside equipment to bare metal. The dust, raised high into the cold, thin atmosphere gave the sky a salmon hue when viewed from the surface of the planet.

But there was no one on the surface this morning to view the salmon colored sky. The vast majority of the fifteen thousand residents of the American settlement at Chryse lived in the underground complex and not even the observation windows would be open. Not only was there nothing to see, but also a safety consideration had to be met. Perihelic dust storms posed a particular danger to the structure and Environmental/Atmospheric Control Management took no chances with any condition that might breach the internal atmosphere of the settlement.

But Benjamin O’Ryan wasn’t overly concerned with safety considerations on this morning. This was his last day on the Red Planet and at six o’clock this evening he would lift off on the surface shuttle bound for the planet’s internationally maintained orbital complex. There he would board the Epsilon class interplanetary liner Song of Antares and begin his journey home to the planet Earth.

As he stood in front of the main window of his apartment overlooking the central Mall of Chryse settlement he felt a tinge of sadness mixed with his excitement. He was glad to be leaving, to be sure, but he had cultivated a large group of friends in his three years on the settlement and he knew that he probably would never see most of them again. His friends were close to him, bonded by the camaraderie that exists between people isolated in a hostile environment. It was a deep friendship that he knew was foreign to most people on Earth. He hoped it still existed in some of the few remote places there.

Ben was also leaving behind a distinguished career. In three years he had risen to nearly the top of his field and was well known throughout the settlement. But it was a career he disliked intensely. Dislike for the career had brought him to Mars and dislike would now send him away.

He looked out of his window at the people moving about on the street below. Some boarded the people mover on their way to work while others opened the stores and cafes that bordered the long, grassy, enclosed park. The Mall stretched some two hundred yards long and fifty yards wide and above it a steep, triangle-shaped ornate glass and steel roof usually allowed light to come in, providing a view of the Martian sky while keeping out the harmful cosmic rays that came down through the thin atmosphere. But today the heavy louvers were closed over the glass and only artificially produced light shined down over the Mall. In the center of the floor, running nearly the length of the Mall lay a park that consisted of grass, bushes, trees, and fountains. It was Ben’s favorite place and he always had a great view of it from his apartment. He often sat and looked out of the window at the park and the small stores and cafes before retiring for the night.

No, he told himself aloud, don’t get wistful now. It’s too late to talk yourself out of it and it’s for the best as well. He reached into his leather briefcase and took out an old Earth calendar that showed scenes of nature from around the world. He had brought it with him from home and had never thrown it out. The pictures were extraordinary. He flipped through it, pausing at some of his favorite photos, which included a tropical beach, a waterfall, a forest, and a broad snow-capped mountain. The last one was the best and looking at the pictures made him happy and his excitement about the trip rose in him again.

Ben smiled a broad smile and slid the calendar back into the nearly empty briefcase. His smile, one of his best features, seemed to light up his whole face and gave him a boyish charm that counteracted his immense size. He stood at six foot three and weighed two hundred and twenty-three pounds. Ben always seemed to stay fit without really trying and his physique reflected his love of boxing, wrestling, and any other sport that mimicked fighting. He brushed back his short blond hair with the fingers of his right hand, picked up the briefcase, and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Downstairs he met Mrs. Westerberg at the concierge’s desk. She was pleasant and matronly and always wore glasses that were too big for her face.

So this is your last day, Mr. O’Ryan?

Yes, ma’am. Even though Ben was thirty-five and there was only a twelve year difference between them, Ben always addressed Mrs. Westerberg as Ma’am. This is it.

Well, I hope you have a pleasant trip. We’re going to miss you, you know. You were always one of our best tenants.

Thank you. There’ll be some things I’ll miss about Chryse, too.

I know, she said, nodding pleasantly. Will someone be coming by to get the rest of your things?

No, we got it all last night. This briefcase is all that’s left. The rest is already at the terminal. I’m going down to the police station now to clear out my desk and say my good-byes.

I see. Well, good-bye Mr. O’Ryan.

Take care of yourself, Mrs. Westerberg.

Ben walked out into the Mall and headed for the people mover. As he walked, he took one last look around him. Atop one of the Classical Greek statues perched a pigeon looking like a plumage on a fancy hat. Ben remembered when the statues and fountains were first put into the Mall. Back in Washington when the budgetary ax was looming over Chryse, some lawmakers were decrying the seeming excess of money that was needed to support the Martian base, but there were sound reasons for the expenditures that went well beyond aesthetic value. Chryse residents, as well as other settlers and space explorers, had to be on guard against two psychological illnesses. One of them, Shimanigashi syndrome, was a mental stress borne out of a sense of isolation. The name alluded to exiled criminals of ancient Japan who were banished to tiny islands in the Pacific. This syndrome was partly cured by increasing the size of the settlement and partly by the strong emphasis on communications with Earth, not only in private transmissions, but in commercial ones as well. Every new song, book, film, and show was expediently sent to Mars. Performers came too, booking Chryse as just another tour stop. These efforts helped the residents feel like they were still part of Earth until they developed their own culture.

The other syndrome, solipsism, persisted as a threat no matter how large a settlement grew or how well it could communicate. Caused by constant exposure to a man-made environment, it resulted in the belief that only the self is real and verifiable. Everything else is unreal and the victim lives with the feeling that he or she is caught in a dream. Extreme cases were rare but psychologists openly admitted that they didn’t know what a person could be capable of if left in such a state for an extended time.

But exposing a person to things that could not be controlled prevented solipsism syndrome. Things such as birds and animals in a small park, plants and trees, and access to variable weather could keep a person in touch with the world around him.

The man responsible for bringing these things to Chryse, and thus responsible for the emotional well being of the residents of the settlement, was Governor John C. Weyburn. An outspoken man whose large size and full red beard gave him the air of a frontiersman so well received on Earth, he traveled back and forth between the planets often, promoting interest in the settlement and generating funds and business contacts. On one occasion when Congressional support flagged, he took his entourage on tour throughout the United States, giving lectures and TV appearances to excite the public on the many discoveries that were taking place on Mars. He brought videos, photos, maps, fossils, materials and microorganisms from the Red Planet and created a fervor likened to the excitement over the King Tut Exhibit many decades earlier. By the time he returned to Washington he was given what amounted to a blank check from the government. Universally well received on Mars, many regarded him a hero.

Ben O’Ryan walked through the park to the people mover platform and stepped onto the small, open, electric monorail with the other passengers. The low doors shut and the cars quietly began moving along the tracks of the Loop toward the office complex. Once there the vehicle stopped and Ben got off and walked down the short hall to the door of the police station.

The automatic doors opened and Ben saw Chief John Wilton standing behind the front desk. He looked up as Ben entered and mimicked great surprise.

Benjamin! he said, smiling. How are you doing? So you’ve changed your mind? You’re going to stay aboard with us?

Ben shook his head. No, Chief. You know better than that. I’m just here to get some things out of my desk. He walked around the front desk and threaded his way past the clutter of shelves, desks, chairs, and people moving about to his own workstation at the back of the room. The dirty walls and floor provided a perfect backdrop to the stale air and overflowing waste paper basket where Ben had spent many dreary hours.   

The Chief, a handsome black man of forty, came out from around the desk and followed Ben through the room. His prosthetic leg made him move awkwardly through the maze of desks and he struggled to keep up.

So, Ben, when’s your flight leaving?

Six o’clock.

The Chief looked at his watch. Ah, good. There’s still time for you to change your mind.

Ben put his briefcase on top of his tiny desk and opened it. Are you going to work on me the whole time I’m here? He sat down and opened a desk drawer.

Sure. I feel it’s my duty. Besides, in light of recent events, losing you is going to be more painful than we first imagined. Want to hear the latest?

Not really.

A young, athletic-looking officer wearing a shoulder holster over his wool sweater walked past and stopped when he saw Ben emptying out his desk. He patted Ben on the shoulder.

Hey, Ben! You checking out?

Very close to it, Buddy. He picked up a pen from the wide top drawer and held it out toward the young officer. Hey, do you want this genuine NASA pen? It’s guaranteed to work, even in zero-g.

Sure, thanks. And how about a pad of those report sheets?

Ben handed him the whole stack. Here, Bud, have them all.

Thanks, Ben. And if I don’t see you later on, you take care of yourself.

Thanks, man.

The Chief turned to Bud, an exaggerated look of surprise on his face. You’re going to let him go? Just like that?

He’s a big boy, Chief. Bud smiled at Ben, before turning to walk away.

The Chief looked back at Ben. Well, it doesn’t matter. I’ll get you some new report pads.

Ben looked up from the desk drawer and said, What makes you so damn sure I’m not getting on that flight this evening?

‘Cause you’ve been here too long. You’ve got Mars in your blood, he said, half-seriously. "Besides, I’m not sure you’re not getting on that flight. That’s why I’m working on you."

Ben shook his head. You know, I like you a lot, but sometimes you talk just like a chief.

The Chief shrugged. Can’t blame me for trying.

Ben didn’t reply and kept going through the contents of his desk. There were mostly only personal things left and these he put into his briefcase. It turned out to be more than he’d expected and he silently chided himself for not following his original plan of putting all of his office things and all of his apartment things together in one big pile to be sorted out. He grabbed a yellow and green box from one drawer and held it up.

Anyone need a box of nine millimeter rounds?

Right here, Ben. Thanks, Nancy said at the next desk. Ben handed her the bullets.

I guess you’re taking that hand-cannon home with you? the Chief asked.

Of course, Ben said.

The Chief thought a moment. Tell me, Ben, what draws you back? What fascination does Earth hold for you?

Ben sat back in his chair and squinted at the Chief. What fascination does it hold? How about fresh air? How about sunlight on my face? And beaches, and oceans, and forests, and animals, and fresh food, and sailing, and ease of travel, and sporting events, and different cultures, and music concerts?

We get concerts here.

Ben shook his head and turned back to his desk.

And have you thought about the adjustment back to Earth’s gravity? For six months you’ll feel real heavy and slow, the Chief warned.

They adjust the gravity on the ship on the way back.

That works for visitors, not for residents.

It works for the governor.

He goes back and forth all the time. You’re going to be hurting, Ben.

Ahh, it’ll be worth it.

The two men were silent for a few moments before the Chief spoke again.

But anyway, let me tell you the latest on the Weyburn case. You will remember that the governor’s daughter, Mitzi, was killed when our boys tried to move in and get her back from the kidnappers, the notorious Lansing Gang, whom you know so well.

Ben nodded silently. He tried to ignore Wilton, but in his mind he could see the girl’s face. Mitzi Weyburn was nineteen and was very beautiful and intelligent. She had been planning to return to Earth soon to study at Harvard. It was a genuine tragedy and Ben had heard that the governor and his wife were taking it very hard.

Well, continued the Chief, after three days of thoroughly searching every nook and cranny of this place, they still haven’t found even one of the gang members, outside of those already killed, of course.

Wonderful. Ben sat back and spoke out to the room. Hey, is anyone keeping a calendar of Earth?

Right here, Nancy answered.

Great! What season is it in North America?

It’s September second.

All right! Leaving tonight, I might make it back by Super Bowl!

And yet, the Chief continued, there’s no way they could have escaped Chryse.

Ben looked over at Nancy. By the way, what does Chryse Planitia mean anyway?

It means Plains of Gold.

Huh! You know, I’ve been here all this time and I never knew what it meant. Can you beat it?

Ben, are you even listening to me? Chief Wilton asked.

Ben turned in his chair to face the Chief. Where’s Busby?

Out with the others re-searching all areas thoroughly.

Well why aren’t you discussing this with him?

I have been, but he’s at a loss for ideas.

That’s surprising, Ben muttered.

Everybody is.

Listen, Chief, I’m sorry about Weyburn’s girl, I really am, but when I tried to help out, Busby slammed the door on me. I knew he was farting around for too long, but he wanted to be the Big Man in his own investigation, and that’s fine. It’s his mess now. I’ve got to go tonight.

There’s another departure in two weeks. Wouldn’t you just stay for two more weeks? It’s not only me that’s asking, you know.

Yeah, I figured there was someone else pushing you. Frankly I’m surprised there hasn’t been some kind of bounty offered.

That’s coming next.

Ben shook his head. Thank you, but I’m leaving tonight.

Well, would you at least let me buy you lunch? We could talk about the case.

Sorry. I’m having lunch with Beth. I’ve got some errands to run, but I’ll be back this afternoon to say my good-byes.

Chapter 3

Beth

By lunchtime Ben had made his way back to the Mall where he would meet Beth at the restaurant cafe. Still early for the midday crowd, only one other table was occupied. He had spent the morning making final arrangements and squaring up and closing his accounts, but despite his activity, time seemed to pass slowly for him. He frequently reminded himself that the lift-off for home would be worth the wait.

As Ben sat at the table finishing his Wild Turkey and Coke, he looked out across the park to the bandstand where he and Beth had come out often