OCCURRENCE: DISCOVERY

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Andrew Sorrenson has a secret. Lost in a dust storm on Mars he finds an alien space ship that proves we are not alone in the galaxy. He knows that this information will be worth something to the right people, but the wrong people have found out and the secret of its location might cost his life.

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DISCOVERY
WR Edmunds

Published by W.R. Edmunds All Rights Reserved Copyright © 2013 By W.R. Edmunds ISBN: 978-0-9918858-4-8 http://www.occurrencenovel.com

Table of Contents
Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five OCCURRENCE Page 1 Page 9 Page 17 Page 27 Page 37 Page 49

DISCOVERY

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- ONE A blast of heavy grit rattled off of the windscreen, breaking the monotonous rush of the windborne dust and fines. After eons of constant erosion from being blown around the planet, the molecule sized fines were small enough to get through the airlock filtration seals, coating all of the surfaces in the rover with a ferric film. Andrew Sorrenson grimaced as he wiped a smear across his navigation console where they were starting to form and obscuring layer. He began to suspect the anti-terraformers were being more literal than poetic when they said “living on Mars stains you red”. “Where the hell are you?” he muttered, hoping that the stubbornly blank screen would convey his exasperation to the next navigation marker which was playing hide-and-go-seek in the storm. A drop of nervous sweat created a rusty track on the monitor which had not yet conjured up the maker’s electronic signal. With a grunt of exasperation he stopped the rover and pushed himself away from the console. “Just my luck,” he grumbled while trying to rub the dryness out of his eyes – lost on a routine re-supply run around Isidis Planitia. He just hoped he could find his way back to the marker trail, otherwise the guys back at Asimov would have a good laugh when they had to come out and rescue him. The worst thing would be the delay in getting the food he was towing to the other towns around the rim. Sorrenson sat back and stared up at the fabric covering the ceiling, so much like his car back home. No, he caught himself, back on Earth. Mars was home now, although sometimes he

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wondered why he had made the trip – likely some forlorn sense of youthful adventure, worn away by the ever blowing dust. And now he could never go back, feel the wind on his face, or the sun on his skin. A thrumming vibration superimposed itself over the storm noise, interrupting his melancholy. He used his comm implant to check the seismic readouts, but there was nothing beyond some minor tremblors, which could just be the fines wreaking havoc with the sensors. A quick glance at the weather data showed the wind speed holding constant at ninety kilometres per hour, even as the shaking grew more insistent. He started his comm scanning for anything out of the ordinary, just as his coffee clattered off of the console and onto the floor before he could dive for it. “Shit!” While reaching for the cloth he was using to wipe the navigation monitor, his comm issued an alert from the weather station, blinking a lurid ::Wind: 143Kmph Temp: 538K:: in front of his vision. Sorrenson managed to brace himself just as the rover was knocked spinning on its side and a collision alarm began wailing. He heard the torturous scream of metal being pushed beyond its limits before something struck the side of his head, sending him down into darkness. The quiet hissing of storm blown particles on the hull slowly pushed itself into his consciousness. Sitting up in a panic, he cracked his head on the underside of a console. Only the dull red glow from the windscreen was giving any light. At least the rover had managed to right itself and the fact that he was still breathing meant the hull was still in one piece.

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First things first, Sorrenson tapped the darkened displays and felt a wave of relief as their light washed over him – they had only turned off due to their power conserve settings. All of the internal environmental systems showed normal and the weather monitor readings had returned to the monotony of the storm. He started his comm analyzing log data to figure out what happened while he began flipping through system diagnostic checks on the monitors. His third diagnostic screen was bathed in red and yellow text, telling him that the trailer he had been towing was no longer there. “Shit, shit, shit!” he exclaimed as he selected the rearview camera and was presented with the static of damaged electronics; he would have to do a manual inspection. He was hardly surprised that the trailer had come loose considering how the rover was sent flying, but the cargo hulls were practically indestructible. It should still be in serviceable condition and hopefully near enough that he could find it and tag its location for recovery. A loss of that much food would put everyone in the region on rations. Scrambling back to the airlock he quickly pulled on his EVA suit and cycled through. The exterior door opened with a plume of red dust as Sorrenson clipped his suit line on to one of the tether hooks outside. He crunched down onto the Martian soil and kept his hand on the hull to help guide him through the storm while he made his way toward the rear of the vehicle. Looking up, he saw a jumbled mound of rock appear out of the wind about three metres behind the rover. “What the...?” He knew there was nothing like that anywhere near his route. A large chunk of debris came loose and clattered

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down from the pile to settle at his feet as he considered the wall in front of him. He queried his comm on what it had found in the logs and it showed him that along with the anomalous wind speed and temperature, something had hit the trailer with enough force to wrench it off and roll the rover. This far out into the plain, the only phenomenon he could think of to explain the log data and the still settling pile of stones in front of him was a long run-out landslide. He recalled the section of his Martian guidebook related to the land-slides from his comm’s memory, and had it read the text to him as he stared nearly five metres up to the top of the rubble. ::Mars’ low gravity and geographic features present a unique danger to the unwary traveler in the form of long run-out landslides. Long run-out landslides on Mars are caused when the super fine dust common to the Martian regolith, is heated through friction and acoustic pressure changes in falling debris, forming a highly fluid layer at the base of the slide. This fluid-like layer drastically lowers the friction between the ground and the slide, allowing it to travel much further horizontally than the height from which it fell. When combined with the low Martian gravity and high cliffs, tonnes of rock can be transported many kilometres over flat ground at high speed, posing a significant danger to anyone travelling through, or near, Mars’s many impact craters and ravine lands.:: Sorrenson felt a chill run up his spine as the comm finished reading the paragraph into his ear. The slide must have come down off the wall of a crater just over a kilometre away and passed right behind his rover, tearing the trailer off as it flew by. He was lucky to be alive.

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Looking down the newly deposited ridge of scree between the gusts of wind, he could just make out something metallic about fifteen metres away. He excitedly began making his way toward it over the shifting rocks assuming that it must be the trailer. If his luck held, he might even be fortunate enough to salvage some of the supplies. As he approached, he began to notice something odd about the trailer’s appearance. It was the wrong shape and the metal glimmered white instead of the regular matte grey. Once Sorrenson got closer, he knew what he was looking up at was not his trailer. In fact, he was pretty certain that the object lying half buried under the rubble in front of him was not even manmade. The wind gusted and tugged at him as he struggled to keep his balance on the shifting rubble under his feet. The sand plinking off of his helmet served to mark the time while Sorrenson stood staring up at the obviously alien object in front of him, his mind whirling furiously. “Think, Andrew! Think!” He pounded his fist into his thigh in frustration. “What the fuck are you going to do here?” Sorrenson knew that what he was looking at would be the discovery of the century and it had to be worth something, maybe even enough to purchase a return to Earth. The problem was something like this would make him a target for larger organizations that would not hesitate to make a truck driver vanish. He though briefly of leaving it and letting the insurance investigators find it when they did their sweep of the slide for the trailer once the storm blew out. At least then it would be their problem and he could just continue running deliveries. On Mars.

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“Shit.” He carefully crawled down off the remnants of the landslide and followed the suit line in a quick jog back to his rover. He found the compartment he wanted and pried open the latch which had gotten clogged with dust. Inside was a cache of the navigation markers that all land vehicles on Mars came equipped with in the event they found a failed marker or had to reroute paths around environmental hazards – like landslides. He grabbed one and hefted it in his hand, second guessing himself. “Fuck, just do it Andrew. You can talk to Cal, he’ll know what to do.” He quickly cycled back into the rover and yanked off his helmet, leaving the rest of the suit on. Striding up to the workbench by the airlock, he swept off the repair project he had been working on and started opening up the marker. There was a trick that all the cargo haulers new about keying a marker to only respond after receiving a specific signal. Most of them used it to mark stashes of pilfered goods or personal hideaways where they could ride out storms and the occasional military action. After a few minutes work, Sorrenson had adjusted the marker to only give its location after receiving a code phrase on a designated frequency. He scooped up his helmet, snapped it in place and got back into the airlock. He impatiently tapped the modified navigation marker against his leg while he waited for the dusty Martian air to be pumped back into the small space. Once he was back out in the blustering wind, he made his way down the slide toward the alien object. A large drift of red dirt was already starting to form in its lee, even during the few minutes that he had been inside. He found some clear ground

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near the artefact and stabbed the marker into the regolith. He then depressed the button which set off a small charge in the marker’s base, driving an anchor two meters down into the surface of Mars. He switched the marker on and heard its familiar ping come back after he sent it his code on the determined frequency. As soon as he stopped transmitting, its locator signal disappeared. He looked back up at his find and watched as its gleaming white shape was steadily covered over by the storm. Now all he had to do was figure out where he was and get back to Asimov.

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- TWO “We’re picking you up on the perimeter transponder, Rover TK421. You are cleared for lock eight.” From the sound of the voice, it sounded like Steve was on duty this shift. The continuing static echoing through the cabin indicated that that the line from Asimov was still open and Sorrenson waited patiently for what he knew was coming. “So what the hell are you doing back already, Andrew?” There it was. “I got hit by a freak long run-out about two hundred K out. Tore the trailer clean off. I looked for it while I was re-routing the rim track to go around the slide, but I couldn’t find it.” “You lost the whole trailer load?” Steve exclaimed. “We’re going to have to go on rations for a month to replace that order!” After an exasperated sigh, Sorrenson saw a standard insurance waiver show up in his comm. “You better fill out the loss form correctly this time, because I’m not covering for any of your irregularities on this one. Lock eight.” “Come on Steve, but my irregularities are always so profitable to you...” Sorrenson’s quip fell on dead air as Steve cut the connection from Asimov control. Sorrenson grimaced, imaging how popular he would be for the next few weeks. He commed a message to Cal to meet him at their usual watering hole, using some of the key words they had worked out to indicate that there was a big score on the line. He quickly received an affirmative response and breathed a little easier. Cal would know what to do. It would all work out. Using control’s navigation signal to find his way through the

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steadily blowing winds of the storm, he pulled into lock eight at the base of the giant outcropping that was Asimov. Dug out of a remnant of the Isidis crater wall, Asimov was one of the oldest settlements on Mars. Originally founded by MNASA as a mining facility, it became their primary military base during the colonization wars, forcing it to grow rapidly. After the Armistice, it had gone through a brief boom of new colonization that had slowly drained away, eventually leaving it a bit of a ghost town as most of those colonists moved to the new tent towns springing up in the ravine lands around the Tharsis bulge. Other than the miners, the only people left were the traders like him who ran supplies around the crater, the regional UNSA office, and a small MNASA presence, ostensibly managing the mining and trade operations. While Sorrenson waited for the large cargo lock to be filled with a breathable atmosphere, he busied himself filling out the insurance form, wincing as he attached the entire bill of lading to it. Once the lock reached interior pressure, the inner door slowly ground open in front of him, sending a teeth rattling vibration up through his chair. He drove the rover into the huge shipping and docking cavern of Asimov, which now sat mostly empty. Even though Asimov’s facilities made it an ideal supply hub for the Isidis region, the migration of colonists to the airy tent towns created an evident down-turn in the amount of goods moving through. He regularly thought of moving too, but the idea of only a few inches of transparent plastic separating him from a painful death due to decompression did not sit well. After a quick drive across the cavernous space, he pulled into his assigned garage and shut down the rover. He did a few

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final updates to the logs and then made his way to the airlock. As he hopped down out of the cab, he commed his refuel payment to the garage manager’s office along with a repair request for the trailer hitch. “Back early, ain’t you, Andrew?” A broad Texan drawl startled him as he turned to face the short East Indian garage manager standing behind him. To his knowledge, no one in Asimov had figured out where the Kolkata native had picked up the accent. “Oh hey, Suresh. Yeah, I got hit by a slide and had to rebuild the rim route to go around it. I’ll probably need a full maintenance check and a replacement hitch.” “I heard you lost the whole trailer,” the small mechanic said casually as he leaned down to check the damage to the rear of the rover. Sorrenson was not surprised that word had spread already. “I’m damn lucky to be alive. A long run-out blasted the trailer right off the rover. I did an EVA check, but I couldn’t see shit through the storm and didn’t find it as I was planting new markers. It probably got buried in the rubble.” Suresh poked at the twisted remains of the hitch mount. “Well something certainly gave you quite a wrench, here. I’ll send word along to supply that you probably aren’t trying to pull a fast one on us. I have no idea how you could have done this kind of damage on your own.” Sorrenson rolled his eyes. “Gee, thanks Suresh. Do you really think I’d swipe the regional food delivery and then bother coming back here? Hell, I would probably get run off the planet” – he let a cheesy grin spread across his face – “and you know

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there is no where I’d rather be than the Big Red Yonder!” Suresh grunted something non committal in response to Sorrenson’s sarcasm before looking up with a serious expression. “It wouldn’t be smart, but with a load like that, you could afford to stop driving these runs, maybe start up your own shipping company – if you had a buyer that wouldn’t as soon turn you in... or worse.” He stood up and wiped his hands on the ever present grease stained rag hanging from his belt loop. “If it counts for anything, I don’t think you actually are stupid enough to make off with a full trailer of food, although I would step carefully around town if I were you. Even if it was an accident, people are going to be mighty upset with a month of rationing.” Sorrenson uttered an awkward thanks at Suresh’s back as the garage manager ambled off in the direction of his office. If everybody was thinking that he had stashed the trailer for himself, it was going to make it harder for him to find a buyer for the location of the artefact. He sighed and jammed his hands in his pockets as he turned and walked toward the elevator up to the living areas of Asimov. There was little he could do about it now. The insurance company would absolutely be checking the length of the slide to verify his report and attempt salvage of the trailer once the storm cleared, and they would assuredly find the alien object. If he submitted an official claim, it would go up on the public boards for review and draw exactly the kind of attention he wanted to avoid. That meant he would have no way to contest the insurance company when they claimed it. Whatever he did, he would have to have the transaction completed before the storm blew out in a couple weeks.

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He stepped into the elevator and thumbed the floor for the main commercial level which let him out onto a wide promenade lit by sun lamps hidden up in the high ceiling, giving the appearance of bright mid-day light. A small strip of manicured grass ran along under a row of windows on the other side of the avenue. Normally the windows looked out across rippled and cratered base of Isidis Planitia, but today the storm obscured the stunning view, reducing it to a rusty haze. Sorrenson walked up the promenade and turned down a side passage populated with abandoned store fronts. At the end of the passage a glow still emanated from a neon sign picturing a small green alien reaching for a foaming mug of beer – the eponymous Parched Martian. The dive bar formed the hub of the seedier side of Asimov and he went there whenever he needed to offload some ‘lost’ material from his shipments. He navigated to the bar once his eyes adjusted to the dim light, catching no few surly looks from the patrons he recognized. Obviously they had heard about the trailer too. As Sorrenson sat down and ordered a beer, he wondered if meeting Cal here was a good idea; it would only reinforce the suspicion that he had stolen the trailer for himself. “Hey, Andy,” Calvin ‘Cal’ Gordon said by way of greeting he slid into the seat beside Sorrenson at the bar. Well, it was too late now. Sorrenson looked up from his beer and signalled the bar tender who brought a second foamy mug for Cal. “So what’s so big you had to get me down to this flop-hole?” Cal complained as he indicated the dingy environs. Sorrenson shrugged and looked around at the unfinished

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rock walls. “What – I thought you liked this flop-hole.” Cal grinned back at him and took a pull from his drink before turning sombre. “I hope for your sake this find of yours is not a trailer of food, Andy.” Sorrenson waved off the statement. “Fuck no! Come on, do you think I’m stupid?” He caught the considering glance Cal was giving him and growled under his breath, “Look, the trailer is gone, all right – it’s an insurance problem now. I’ve got something else, something bigger” – he looked around surreptitiously before leaning in closer to Cal – “I just need some advice about who to approach with it.” Cal leaned back on his stool and watched Sorrenson over the edge of his glass as took another long drink before setting the beer down. “And how about you tell me what it is so I can point you in the right direction – minus my usual fee, of course.” Sorrenson nervously took another swig of beer. “I, don’t really know what it is, okay? Just –this is going to sound stupid – I think I found some kind of alien artefact or something.” Cal directed a sceptical look at Sorrenson. “I’m serious, Cal!” he whispered defensively. “I have no idea what the fuck it is, but I can tell you it isn’t human. It was buried in the slide that took the trailer.” Cal sat for quietly for a moment. “Could this thing be some military hardware left from the war?” “Not unless they’ve found a way of manufacturing without seems or rivets. I’m telling you this thing did not come out of any of our factories.” “Okay, let’s say I believe you,” Cal began cautiously, “as soon as word of something this huge gets out, everyone is going to

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want a piece of it. Anyone who touches this could end up dead.” “You think I don’t know that, Cal? That’s why I needed to talk to you. This is way the fuck over my head.” Cal nervously glanced around the bar. “I’m sorry, Andy, but I don’t know if I want to get involved. Never mind over your head, this is over my head.” He blew out a tense breath. “Look. A little free advice. Your best chance to make money on this is through the multinats. They’ve been looking for something to yank the rug out from under UNSA ever since their little puppet cut the strings and forced the Armistice down their throats. They’ll pay top dollar for an edge like alien tech – try MNASA, they’re usually a bit more above board.” Sorrenson looked at Cal worriedly. “MNASA? Couldn’t that get me in trouble with UNSA?” “Of course, why do you think I want no part of this? There are so many ways this could go south, it isn’t funny.” “I don’t know.” Sorrenson started nervously tapping his glass. “Do you think I could go directly to UNSA with this?” “Sure,” Cal said rolling his eyes, “If you want nothing more than a finder’s fee and a pat on the head.” He stopped and considered for a moment. “But they would be the safest option, if you could make them believe you.” Sorrenson looked at Cal plaintively. “I could really use your help on this one, Cal. I’d pay you triple” For a moment it looked like he was about to change his mind, but then he shook his head and pushed back from the bar. “I’m sorry, Andy” – he put some hard currency down beside his mug – “I can’t take the risk. Beers are on me. Good luck.” With that, he turned and walked out of the bar.

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Sorrenson pushed his beer away as his stomach tied itself in knots. “Fuck.”

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- THREE Sorrenson sat staring at the bar trying to come up with a plan before desultorily pulling himself to his feet and making his way to the door. Surely even the chance that he could be right about what he found would get him some attention from UNSA. They couldn’t afford to let the multinats get their hands on this sort of thing and they would keep him safe until they had secured the artefact. It would also be easy for them to arrange passage back to Earth and a new passport. His thoughts were interrupted by something wet and foul smelling pelting him in the back of the head when he was only a few meters out of the Parched Martian. He turned and faced a group of four grim faced individuals, one of whom was wiping his hands off on his coveralls. “What the fuck?” Sorrenson shouted as he scraped the offensive slime of what appeared to be rotten compost off the back of his head. “We just thought we’d give you your rations for next month in advance,” one of the men in the group called out, prompting jeers from the small crowd that was forming as others came out of the bar. Sorrenson swallowed nervously and held his hands up in defence. “Hey everyone, I’m really sorry about the trailer of food, it was an accident.” “Yeah, tell that to my kid who won’t be getting a cake on his birthday next week!” someone called out. The man who had thrown the offal crossed his arms. “If it was an accident, why were you just talking to a black market

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fence back there? Got something to sell? From the way he walked out, it looked like he wanted no piece of it.” “He’s just a friend. I nearly died out there when I lost the trailer and I wanted to sit down and have a drink for God’s sake!” The crowd began slowly closing in, not believing his story. “You can talk to Suresh down in the garage, he’ll vouch for me. The trailer got torn off by a landslide and then I couldn’t find it in the storm!” Just then, one of the local police officers broke into the crowd, forestalling a response to Sorrenson’s plea. “Okay everyone, what’s going on here!” he shouted over the din. The instigator responded with a nod at Sorrenson, “That’s Andrew Sorrenson, the truck driver who supposedly lost the food supplies he was delivering to the other settlements around the rim. We were just inquiring why he figured he had to talk to a black market vendor as soon as he got back in town.” Sorrenson pleaded at the policeman, “I swear I was just meeting with a friend. It had nothing to do with the food!” “Listen up everyone! You will all shortly be receiving a message from central indicating that the loss of the food is to be considered accidental.” He glanced in Sorrenson’s direction before continuing. “Mister Sorrenson isn’t to blame for what happened. “We’ve all been through worse than rationing before. If you all disperse and go home now, I’ll forget this happened and I recognize more than a few of you here right now.” The crowd grumbled but started to break up with a last few angry looks directed at Sorrenson as he turned to the officer, breathing a sigh of relief. “Thanks, it was getting pretty tense

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there –” The constable interrupted him with a sharp jab on Sorrenson’s breastbone. “You better watch yourself Mister Sorrenson. You’re fortunate that central had some concern for your safety and sent out an early report to our dispatch. You’re also fortunate that despite the fact that your record shows you as being prone to skimming from your shipments, it also indicates you likely aren’t stupid enough to try stealing an entire regional food shipment.” He leaned in and loomed over Sorrenson as he finished quietly, “But if I find out otherwise, I will personally be leading the next mob. Are we clear?” Sorrenson choked out a breathy, “Yes, Sir,” as the officer turned and walked back up the passage toward the promenade. He stood in the street dumbly until the crowd cleared completely before forcing himself into motion again, following in the direction the officer had gone. Once he reached the main avenue, Sorrenson found a public washroom and tried to clean himself up and steady his nerves before continuing down the street to the regional UNSA offices. He pushed open the glass doors to a small white lobby with a couple plants growing in terrariums in the corners. A mat on the tile floor by the entryway managed to collect most of the red dirt that visitors tracked in from the street. Sorrenson walked up to the front desk where a secretary was on a comm call and he stood, wringing his hands, waiting for her to finish. He was glancing back out through the glass doors debating whether or not he had made a mistake when the secretary asked, “Can I help you?”

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Sorrenson startled and flushed. “Uh, yeah, my name is Sorrenson, um, Andrew Sorrenson and I would like to talk with someone about something unusual I found out in the crater.” She pointed her finger and stated matter-of-factly, “You can pull the standard report and claim forms off of that common access point there, Sir.” “Well, this is something that I would rather not put through the standard claim process.” He could see the suspicious look spreading across the secretary’s face and hastily added, “I’m sorry, it’s just that I think it could be something dangerous if word got out and I would prefer to not put it through the standard claim interface.” She raised her eyebrow but motioned for him to wait as she made a call and he listened to her one-sided conversation. “There is an Andrew Sorrenson here, indicating that he has found something potentially dangerous on the crater floor. “No, he won’t say.” She moved to stare Sorrenson in the eyes, considering. “He does seem rather nervous.” She pressed a few things on her monitor in response to whatever she received as a reply. “Yes, it appears to be the same Andrew Sorrenson that lost the monthly regional supply load in the storm. “Very well.” She terminated the call and spoke to Sorrenson. “Mister Sorrenson? Mister Greaves will see you” – she pointed – “through that door, second office on your left.” “Uh, thanks,” he replied as she turned her attention back to her screen. He walked through the door that the secretary had indicated

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and found the office with ‘Gerald Greaves – Regional Manager’ marked on the door. He knocked and sent an entry request, prompting the door to slide open. Inside, he was greeted by a mousey looking man in a brown suit. “Mister Sorrenson, please, have a seat. Olivia tells me that you think you have found something dangerous in the crater?” Sorrenson coughed nervously as he sat in the proffered chair before his words started spilling out in a jumble. “Um, yeah, I thought about just leaving it lying there and letting it be someone else’s problem, but I knew that UNSA would want to know about this. If the multinats found it, they could cause some big trouble for you guys. “The only thing is, you have to act fast while the storm is still hiding this thing. I also want to be assured safe transport off of Mars and an Earth passport in return for turning this thing over to you.” Mister Greaves sat behind his desk looking bewildered. “And what is it that you think you’ve found exactly, Mister Sorrenson?” Sorrenson shifted in his seat before answering, “I don’t really know, but I’m pretty sure it is some kind of alien artefact.” The official blinked at him before breaking down in a fit of laughter. “Olivia put you up to this, didn’t she? Oh this is rich! An alien artefact!” Sorrenson gaped at the man in consternation. “What? No! I’m serious. I’ll even take you guys to it, but we need to go now and I need some assurance that you can get me safely off of Mars.” Greaves’ laughter died and turned into a frown. “Look

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Mister Sorrenson, this really isn’t funny. We do serious work here and don’t have time for this kind of foolishness. The fact that you think you can demand something as outrageous as an Earth passport is preposterous. I strongly suggest you fill out a standard report form and, when the storm is over, if you still want to pursue this, one of us will go out with you to examine whatever it is you think you have found. If it is something as fantastic as an alien artefact, you will get your full finder’s fee and no small amount of notoriety which you can use in any way you see fit.” “You’re kidding,” Sorrenson retorted. “If I fill out a standard form, it goes into the bulletin system to be reviewed for any conflicting claims – I’ll have half the population of Asimov and the multinats trying to pry this information out of me and they probably won’t be overly concerned with my safety. I’m willing to give it to you now, in confidence, for a trip which one of your shuttles is already going to be making and some paper you can probably print in this office.” The official sighed and tried not to roll his eyes. “Mister Sorrenson, really, I can’t help you and these ravings of conspiracy hardly help your case.” He leaned forward, resting his hand on his desk. “Fill out the form, come back when the storm is over, and we will review this case again.” Sorrenson shook his head bitterly as he realized that he was going to get no further with Gerald Greaves. He stood up, saying, “ I’m sorry I wasted your time, Mister Greaves,” and then left the room. As he strode out of the UNSA offices he saw Greaves follow him and stop to speak with the secretary, Olivia. He ignored

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their suspicious glances as he turned and made his way down the promenade toward the elevators. He worriedly wondered just how big of a mistake his trip to the UNSA offices was. He could only hope that no-one was monitoring their internal communications as he was surely going to be mentioned. He got to the elevators and pressed the button for the floor for his apartment was on. When he arrived, Arlene, the blonde from suite fourteen, was waiting to enter. He graciously stepped out and held the elevator for her, smiling. She just sniffed and strode past him proving he still had his usual animal magnetism. However, his misplaced gesture of chivalry allowed him to see two large men dressed in miner coveralls lurking down the corridor in the opposite direction from his apartment – if Arlene hadn’t been there, he would have turned the other direction and likely never noticed them. The two men looked at him in surprise and then reached into their pockets. Sorrenson managed to duck back into the elevator just as two stun bolts pinged off the door frame, throwing off bursts of bright sparks. Arlene screamed as he repeatedly pressed the button to close the doors. One of the thugs sprinted over and jammed his body into the doors as they were shutting. He raised his gun just as Sorrenson gave him a solid punch in the face, causing him to drop the weapon and sending him reeling out of the doors, allowing them to close. Sorrenson quickly bent down to retrieve the gun and stood

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up, meeting Arlene’s terrified stare. He coughed and mumbled a faint, “Sorry about that,” and pressed the floor for the garage. He swore under his breath as Arlene inched away from him as far as she could in the elevator’s close confines. Cal must have sold him out. He was the only one who knew and would have had time to arrange for the surprise he had found waiting at his apartment. He belatedly realized that he was still holding the gun in his hand as the elevator doors began to open on the commercial level, which had been Arlene’s destination. He thrust it into his pocket as she squeaked and ran by him. He saw that the police officer who he had run into earlier happened to be standing on the promenade near the elevators and Arlene ran right for him, frantically pointing back in Sorrenson’s direction. The officer was reaching for his holster just as the doors closed again and whisked Sorrenson down to the garage. His only chance was to get out of town. He was lucky that the storm would cut off any radio communications around the crater. He should be able to make it to New Pittsburgh and connect with a contact there. As soon as the elevator stopped, he sprinted across the floor to his garage, glancing back at the elevators. He saw one making its way down from his apartment level and another from the commercial level. This should be interesting. He sent a comm request to Asimov control as he jumped into the rover, filing a route which would take him in the opposite direction of New Pittsburgh and sighed in relief as he was approved for lock two. He powered up the systems, hoping

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that Suresh had refuelled it already. It didn’t look like he had, but he should be able to make it. He backed out of the garage in time to see the officer arrive. “Sorrenson, stop the truck and come out with your hands up,” the policeman’s voice came through on his comm’s security alert channel. “Sorry, I can’t do that,” Sorrenson replied. He then noticed the second elevator opening up revealing the two goons who had shot at him earlier and added a hasty, “but I would look out behind you if I were you.” He saw the officer turn and register the two gun totting thugs running out of the elevator. They were obviously surprised by the presence of the policeman as all three of them scrambled for cover. Sorrenson decided that he should be gone before their standoff resolved itself and gunned it for lock two, praying that the officer had been too busy to have called control. His luck held as he felt the doors rumble shut behind him and the atmosphere began pumping out of the lock. “Sorrenson!” the officer’s voice came over his comm, “what the fuck have you gotten me into here? If you think you can run away before answering some questions, you’re wrong.” Sorrenson’s comm indicated that the pressure outside of the rover had begun rising again. The officer must have gotten through to control. “I’m really sorry about this officer,” Sorrenson replied on the security channel, “but if I come back in there, I’m a dead man. If I survive this I’d be happy to explain it all to you, but that’s not an option right now.”

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He then submitted a secret override code that he had paid a lot for years ago and hoped to never use. In response to his code, the outer lock doors ground open and the remaining air in the lock forcibly evacuated. Sorrenson ignored the angry calls from both control and the police officer. He pulled out of the lock and bumped away over the floor of the crater until the storm cut off the clamour in his comm. He then set a course for New Pittsburg and hoped his luck held for just a few more days.

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- FOUR Fourteen hours of hard driving later, the navigation markers indicated that Sorrenson was at the turn off to New Pittsburgh. Just in time as he was almost out of fuel. He had to resist the urge to check on his discovery when he drove within a few kilometres of it. There was no way of knowing if someone had a chance to put a logger on his rover which would record his departure from the marker trail. He just had to trust that no-one would be able to find it in the storm. He was granted entry to New Pittsburgh without question by the bored controller, indicating that the storm had successfully blocked communications from Asimov. While he was waiting for the lock to cycle, he dug up his emergency supply of currency. There was no way of stopping the networks registering the fact that he was here, but he could at least make it more difficult for anyone watching to track his movements. He paid for a refuel and dodged a few questions about the late food delivery, saying that some other trader had pulled the assignment this month and that he hadn’t heard anything as to why it might be late. People in New Pittsburgh were worried and had already begun rationing, but being on the less popular side of Mars meant that these things happened from time to time, especially during the storms at this time of year. Sorrenson figured that he had a day or so until someone from Asimov arrived with news about what happened. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be security. He wished he could have avoided using that illegal override code on the locks, as up until then the security forces had no legal reason to pursue him. Maybe they’ll have

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their hands full with the two men who had shot at Sorrenson. He sent a message to his contact, Sam, indicating that he might have something of interest to the multinats. Around Isidis, that usually meant MNASA. Once Sam commed an acknowledgement they set up an appointment to meet later that night at a local pub. That gave Sorrenson a couple hours to find a place and grab some rest after the long drive. Using cash, he checked in to a cheap motel near the elevators on the commercial level and then went up to his room to pour himself a drink of what passed for whiskey on Mars. ::Entry Request, Sam Whitworth:: Sorrenson jumped as the ghostly words appeared in front of him, causing him to spill his drink. “Shit!” He had no idea how Sam had found him. He grabbed his gun from his pocket before running over to the door and releasing the manual lock. “Sam! What – ” Sorrenson stared dumbly at the cute curly haired brunette in front of him. “You’re not Sam.” “I most certainly am not,” She said with a smile. “May I come in Mister Sorrenson?” She pushed him back into his room without waiting for a response and then shut and relocked the door. “Hey – wait a minute! Who are you?” Sorrenson stumbled out as she sat on the edge of the bed and made herself at home. “This is not a nice place you’ve holed up in, Mister Sorrenson,” she replied, ignoring his question as she glanced around. “Fortunately for you, your luck is about to change.” She indicated the gun held limply in his hand. “I don’t think you’ll need that. Please, sit.”

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“Now hold on! Who are you and what the fuck is this?” She raised an eyebrow at him. “Is that how you treat all your guests? My name is Jillian Barstov. I work for MNASA.” Andrew’s mouth went dry as he felt behind him for the hotel room’s chair before dropping himself into it. He carefully put his gun on the small table beside him. “Much better.” Jillian gave him another warm and winning smile. “Now I understand that you might have some information to sell which can’t be moved through normal channels?” Sorrenson nodded as he shakily poured himself another drink. He shot it down, hoping to find his nerves at the bottom of the glass. He looked over at Jillian as she continued to smile at him, waiting patiently. “How did you find me?” he asked once the warmth of the alcohol started to spread from his stomach, slowing his jumping heart rate. “I believe you ran into two FESEA agents back in Asimov. Because Isidis is our territory, we keep track of the movements of the other multinats. They took an interest in you which meant we should too,” she said simply. He swallowed the knot in his throat. “Those guys were FESEA?” Jillian nodded. “Yes, and we expect that they will be arriving here shortly – they were understandably detained in Asimov.” “Wait,” he asked trying to control his rising fear, “how do you know what happened in Asimov?” If there was some successful radio communication between here and there, he was in big trouble. She smiled. “That’s easy, we came from there. We scrambled

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a security team to a transport as soon as you left and were on the road ten minutes behind you. We assumed your filed route was misleading, so we went the other direction. We were correct and caught up to you within a couple hours and then tailed you here.” “But I didn’t pick up any other transponders on my scanner...”he stammered out. She just raised her eyebrow again. He sighed and mumbled a quiet, “Of course not,” under his breath as he stared at the empty glass in his hands. “From there it was just a matter of tracking you to this hotel.” She then cocked her head to the side and asked curiously, “So how about you tell me why FESEA is so interested in you, Mister Sorrenson?” He looked at her over his brow replied, “What would it be worth?” She gave him a cool look. “You are hardly in the position to be making deals, Mister Sorrenson, however, if you have something of interest, we can at least keep you safe.” He shook his head, “I’m in the exact position to be making deals, I have nothing to lose. However, I can guarantee you that the information I have is more than worth your while.” He paused before deciding to just go for it. “I want off of Mars; passage to Earth and a passport.” “That’s a very lofty demand, Mister Sorrenson,” she said, her face darkening. “And would it be so lofty if I told you that I discovered some sort of alien artefact out on the crater?” She leaned back on the bed and crossed her legs. “Now that

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is something that might be of interest.” She eyed him up and down and continued, “And you’re serious about what you think you’ve found.” She shifted forward and continued. “Let’s say you’re right, FESEA certainly pounced on you quickly enough even on the possibility, this might be something that would be worth us getting you off of Mars and setting you up back on Earth, however you will have to take us to it so we can verify your claim first.” “Not good enough,” he retorted. “I have no reason to trust you won’t just toss me out without a suit when we get there. I will tell you how to find it once you hand me tickets and a passport.” “You know, Mister Sorrenson. We could wait for this storm to blow out and just go locate whatever it is you found ourselves – I’m assuming it was found after the landslide you reported. It won’t be hard for us to pinpoint a new slide and search along its length.” “True, but I also lost the regional food shipment in that slide, so the insurance investigators are going to be all over the area by the time the storm blows itself out. They aren’t just going to give you something like that and I don’t think MNASA can risk an open fight.” Jillian frowned in thought. “Well, it seems that you might be able to actually get what you want, Mister Sorrenson.” She stood and stuck out her hand, which he gave a cautious shake. “Now, if you’ll follow me,” she said as she made her way toward the door. “I’ll contact our office and make the arrangements. Everything you need should be ready by the time we get there. He picked up the gun as he got up, which got him another

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raised eyebrow from Jillian, but she didn’t comment. As they were leaving the room she stopped and looked at him sharply. “And it should go without saying, Mister Sorrenson, that if we get out there and don’t find what we expect to, things will not go well for you once you dock at Earth.” “Of course,” he responded dryly. As they left the hotel, two men who practically cried out ‘armed and dangerous’ fell in step on either side of him. “What’s with these two?” he called angrily to Jillian. She shot back over her shoulder, “They’re for your protection, Mister Sorrenson. We have reason to believe that the FESEA agents just arrived.” Andrew cast a nervous glance in the direction of the elevators and shifted to put the soldiers in between him and the bank of elevator doors. The sun-lamps had dimmed to twilight, casting much of New Pittsburgh’s small promenade in shadow, relieved only by streetlamps and storefronts. Every time one of the local residents moved out of the dim side passages into the avenue, Sorrenson jumped. He could see the MNASA offices up ahead and finally started to relax when the guard to his right grunted and fell away from him in a burst of blue sparks. The other soldier pushed Sorrenson down behind a decorative garbage container and returned fire. His bullets gave off none of the blue Saint Elmo’s fire of a stun round, meaning that he was loaded to kill. Sorrenson looked around for Jillian and found her firing while taking cover in a restaurant entryway a little up the street as the patrons inside all rushed away from her. A loud gasp

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came from the guard beside him along with the smell of ozone as another of their attackers’ stun rounds found their mark. Jillian started waving him over but he was frozen in place as bullets crackled and whizzed by him, bursting in a cascade of glowing blue whenever they contacted something. He saw Jillian lean out and return fire, causing the hail of bullets pinning him down to let up. He jumped up from cover, firing a few shots of his own down the street and sprinted toward Jillian. He had almost made it when he felt a painful jab in his back and then everything flared and went dark. Sorrenson blinked and tried to raise his hand against the bright light in his eyes, only to find that he had been tied down to some sort of hospital bed. He looked around frantically trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his skull, but couldn’t make out anything in the shadow created by the light above him. “Hello?” he called out in a rasping voice. “Ah, so you’re awake.” He recoiled at the recognition of the voice and blinked again as Cal’s face interposed itself between the light and his eyes. “Cal? What’s going on?” “What’s going on is I found a better deal than what you could have paid me.” Cal looked off to the side, saying, “Can you raise him up?” Sorrenson frantically tried to reach out with his comm as he felt the bed start to lift him up, but he found his network connection blocked. The bed raised until he reached a near vertical position and was no longer staring into the light. With its glare out of his eyes he could make out the front a small office

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with a few armed soldiers bearing FESEA markings. Standing directly in front of him was Cal. “Cal, you son of a bitch! What the fuck is this, let me go!” Cal sighed as he sat down in a chair. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Andy. However, if you tell us how to find the alien artefact, we’ll let you die painlessly.” “We? Who’s ‘we?’ This isn’t funny, Cal!” Cal looked around at the soldiers beside him before looking back at Sorrenson. “Well, as you can see, ‘we’ is FESEA. I told you that everyone would want a piece of this and that includes me. All I had to do was get them you.” “I talked to MNASA, Cal. They’re going to be looking for me!” Cal chuckled. “That may be so, but they won’t find you in time.” His expression turned dangerous. “Now how about you tell me how to find the artefact? I assume you used a hidden marker? Comm me the code phrase and frequency – you’ll find that my contact is still reachable.” Sorrenson checked and saw that Cal was registering as online. “Fuck you, Cal, you’re not getting anything from me. I’ll let the insurance team find it and do whatever they want with it before I tell you.” Cal gave him a wan smile. “I’m afraid that we can’t let that happen, so unless you send me the information willingly, we are going to have to extract it from you. I don’t know if you know much about forcible comm hacking, but I’ve heard it can be quite painful.” “A comm shuts itself down when it detects a hack,” Sorrenson

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tried to say confidently, “you aren’t going to get a thing.” Cal merely shook his head and responded sadly, “Unfortunately for you, there are ways to disable those safe guards. It takes the right equipment and know-how, but these men assure me it can be done and that we can crack open your mind and take whatever we want. You likely won’t live through the process, but...” “Damn you, Cal!” Sorrenson bellowed, struggling against his restraints. “Get me the fuck out of here!” “If it means anything,” Cal spoke dolefully, “I’m sorry it had to be this way, Andy.” Cal then nodded at someone behind Sorrenson and he felt a slight tingling sensation roil through his skull. Sorrenson laughed desperately, “What? Is that it? I thought you said –” His words turned into a long, harsh scream as the tingling became coils of fire wrapping around every single neuron. The scream transformed into an odd animal noise as Sorrenson’s consciousness detached itself from the pain. He listened to it as it changed tone and eventually wound down in to a harsh guttural coughing, dimly registering surprise that his body could make such a noise. Once even those sounds wore out, other sounds floated up to his awareness. “We got what we need. Our team is already on route.” “Is he still alive?” “Barely. Do you want us to finish him?” “No, I should do it. I think that if you mark a man for death, you should at least have the strength to end his life yourself...I’m sorry, Andy. Truly.”

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Then a world shattering explosion silenced even those last vestiges of consciousness.

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- FIVE “He’s coming around.” “Mister Sorrenson! Mister Sorrenson! Can you hear me?” He blinked and tried to pull back as a pen light was shone in his eyes. Sorrenson’s voice sputtered to life along with his memory. “Cal! What?” He tried to sit up and a splitting pain threatened to tear his head in two, causing him to roll onto his side and retch. “Easy Mister Sorrenson, we’ve pulled you back from the brink, but you’ll want to let the pain suppressors kick in before you move too much.” He flopped onto his back and cautiously looked around, quickly identifying the person speaking to him as Jillian Barstov. He focused his eyes on her. “You’re the woman from MNASA. What happened?” She leaned to the side to allow a medic some room to get a needle into in Sorrenson’s arm as she spoke, “I was out-gunned in the street, so after you went down I took off back to the office and got some backup. By the time we got out into the street, FESEA had already grabbed you and disappeared. We found their hiding place and got here in the nick of time.” The medic got Jillian’s attention with a quick, “He should be good for travel, now.” She nodded and then brought her attention back to Sorrenson. “Here, sit up slowly, those drugs should be kicking in.” With her help, Andrew levered himself up into a sitting

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position. A wave of dizziness and pain accompanied the movement, but nowhere near as bad as before. “What happened to Cal?” he asked as he waited for his equilibrium to return. Jillian hesitated and then gave him a weak grin before saying a bit hoarsely, “He got caught in the cross fire when we moved in. I would suggest that you not look around the room too much.” Between her and the medic, they got him up to his feet and started leading him to a hole in the wall where the door used to be. He saw that he was walking through something red and sticky and turned to look for the source. “Eyes forward, Andrew,” Jillian stopped him, “you really don’t want to see.” Still working hard to maintain his balance between her and the medic, Sorrenson just nodded and focused on putting one foot in front of the other. As they left the room he managed to sneak a glance back and see an arm sticking out from behind where the heavy air-tight office door had embedded itself in the far wall He thought that the arm may have been wearing the sleeve of Cal’s shirt and involuntarily gagged at the realization. “I warned you,” sighed Jillian as they stopped and let him get over his heaving. “Where are we going?” he groaned as they started him moving again. “We’re going after FESEA and we’re taking you with us.” He gave her a confused look. “After FESEA?” “Their team left New Pittsburgh about an hour ago. We figure they must have extracted the location of your artefact from you and headed out after it.” – She paused and gave him a sidelong glance – “We would have gone after them sooner, but

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because of the storm we need you to be able to find them before they grab whatever it is and disappear.” A few more details of his abduction clicked into place as the painkillers deadened the agonizing haze in Sorrenson’s head. “They said they were going to hack my comm. It hurt like nothing I’ve ever felt I” – he stopped dead – “My comm! I can’t access it!” Jillian responded apologetically, “I was wondering when you were going to notice. Mental extraction like that burns out the comm and usually the brain it’s housed in. You are very lucky to be alive.” “But...my comm? Can it be repaired?” he pleaded as he felt around the hole in his mind where it used to be and recoiled from the yawning void. “There was a lot of damage,” Jillian trailed off grimly. Sorrenson numbly let them lead him forward. He needed a comm. How was he going to work without one? Nearly every job available required a comm in some fashion or another. Almost every transaction he had ever made in his adult life used it. Another thought occurred to him and he exclaimed, “Wait. Without my comm, I don’t think I remember the frequency and passphrase I used for my hidden marker. How are we going to find them?” She shook her head and responded quietly, “We have a few hours of driving to get out to approximately where your insurance report indicated the slide is, so hopefully you’ll remember by then.” Jillian and the medic led Sorrenson toward an armoured transport rover that was idling outside the offices FESEA

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had locked him up in; likely an abandoned shipping business since it opened up on to New Pittsburgh’s docks. A trooper in a MNASA combat EVA suit was waving them forward to the large boarding hatch at the back. They got up into the rover and helped Sorrenson past a row of armed troopers that were checking over their weapons. When they got to the front of the hold, he had regained enough of his mobility to sit down and strap himself in without assistance. Jillian disappeared forward into the transport’s cab. The rear hatch of the rover closed and after a few minutes of waiting to cycle through one of New Pittsburgh’s locks, they jostled out into the storm. They rode in silence as Sorrenson probed the holes in his memory. There was no way to tell how much he had forgotten. In theory, everything should still be there. He remembered reading that anything you stored in, or pulled off your comm was in your memory too as a comm did not inhibit those natural processes. A person’s comm just contained a clearer, more readily accessible version of the data. If that were the case, he had all his memories and he would just have to figure out how to recall them. About an hour into the ride, Jillian came back dressed in one of the combat suits and braced herself in front of him, interrupting his thoughts as she shouted over the noise of the shifting transport. “So any luck?” He shrugged hopelessly. “Some. I think I know the passphrase as it is a common one that I have used for years, but the frequency...” he trailed off, struggling to remember it. She smiled encouragingly. “That’s a start. So what is it?” “I’ll just message –” he stopped as he instinctively reached

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out to his comm and found only a quiet darkness where his messaging interface used to be. “Oh. Right. Uh, it is waggles106 all lower case.” He spelt it out to make sure she had it. “Thanks, if we have to, we can do a spectrum broadcast with the passphrase, but keep working on recalling the frequency so we can avoid giving away our presence and location to FESEA.” She then turned to the medic, yelling for Sorrenson’s benefit, “Get yourself and him into suits. We probably won’t catch them on the road, but we need to be ready for a rapid combat deployment and we’re going to be cycling to external pressure.” Sorrenson eyed the large back hatch they had entered through and realized that there was no standard two door airlock. If it opened when the rover contained a breathable atmosphere, the decompression would send everyone in the transport flying out the back, disrupting any cohesive debarkation of troops under fire. Once he and the medic had put on EVA suits, Sorrenson strapped himself back in and continued trying to remember the frequency. He knew that he had picked the number because when he randomly generated it, it had been close to the date he arrived on Mars. It suddenly came to him in a flash and he cried out, “Sixtwo-one-two-one-two!” He then realized that without a comm, he had no way accessing the rover’s communication network or turning on his suit’s radio. He tapped on the medic’s shoulder and then on his own helmet while saying, “I can’t talk.” The medic got the idea and the radio in Sorrenson’s suit crackled to life as the medic gave him a rueful smile. “I guess

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without a comm you can’t do too much on your own. I’ve created an open radio channel for you to use. Is something wrong?” “Can you let Jillian know that I remembered the frequency?” The medic nodded inside his helmet. “Sure thing.” A moment later, Jillian’s voice came on the channel. “Sorry about that, Andrew, I forgot that you wouldn’t be able to talk from in your EVA suit without a comm. You have the frequency?” “It’s okay, I don’t think I’ve gotten used to it yet either. Yeah, the frequency is six-two-one-two-one-two.” “Roger that. We’ll keep this channel open for you, so whenever you want us, just speak, all right?” “Sounds good,” Sorrenson replied as he settled back into his chair, all of a sudden succumbing to a wave of exhaustion that had been building on the edge of his awareness. He closed his eyes for just a minute... ...and opened them to the sound of Jillian’s voice coming over his suit speakers. “Andrew. Wake up. We’ve managed to secure the artefact from FESEA, your marker lead us right to them. It looks like they were betting on you not surviving as we caught them completely by surprise.” He groggily shook himself awake and winced at the lingering pain in his head. “Wha? You let me sleep through the whole thing?” He noticed that she had removed her suit and the back of the rover was open, allowing him a view of what looked like a staging or shipping garage. “You couldn’t have done anything besides get in the way,”

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Jillian continued. “Secure in the transport was the best place for you. Let’s get you out of that suit and then you can see what it is you’ve found.” His curiosity snapped him to wakefulness and he fumbled with his restraints. “Uh. Yeah!” While he and Jillian worked to remove his suit he asked, “Where are we, exactly?” “Exactly where I can’t tell you, but we are in one of the few facilities in the area we’ve managed to keep hidden from UNSA.” Jillian stopped and exclaimed, “Oh! I almost forgot.” She ran up into the rover’s cab and came back carrying an envelope and dropped it on the chair beside him. A passport and what he assumed were tickets to Earth spilled out. “I’d say that you earned those,” she said as he stared at the papers. Once the suit was removed he grabbed up the envelope, tucked it in his pocket, and followed Jillian out of the transport. He moved slowly, but under his own power. When he came around the side of the rover he saw that they were in a large, rough stone garage, but the object in the center of the room is what drew his attention. He stopped in amazement. “It’s a spaceship, isn’t it?” “We think so,” Jillian replied with a grin. “Come on, let’s get you a closer look.” Set on the floor of the garage was a pristine white oblong approximately twenty meters in length. Now that it had been fully uncovered he could see obvious engines and manoeuvring ports, which were the only discernable physical features of the ship. On the side he was looking at there was a red rectangle

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painted onto the hull. “I don’t see any doors or portholes,” he remarked. Jillian shook her head in wonderment. “That’s because there aren’t any, at least not that we’ve found.” – she indicated the rectangle on the side – “We think that is supposed to identify the location of an entryway, but as far as we can tell, the whole hull has been built as one piece. There is not a single seam, other than around the engines.” Sorrenson opened his mouth to ask a question when a loud bang sounded from the front of the garage near the locks, accompanied by a strong wind moving in that direction. “Shit!” Jillian exclaimed, “Someone’s found us. Quick! Follow me!” He struggled to keep up with her as the exertion sent shocks of pain through his body. Armed personnel were running by them toward the front of the garage where Sorrenson could hear gunfire erupting. She led him into a small prep room with lockers along one wall and then closed and sealed the door. “Quick!” she shouted opening a locker and throwing him an emergency pressure suit. “Get this on!” He pulled on the suit while the sound of fighting outside drained to the tinny noise that the Martian atmosphere was able to carry. Just as he and Jillian finished checking each other’s suit seals they heard a pounding on their door. She pointed to a small alcove on the far side of the lockers. “Hide in there and stay down!” As he made his way to the hiding spot, he saw her draw a rifle from one of the lockers, knock over the solitary table and

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then take cover behind it. The pounding on the door stopped only to be followed by a loud explosion and the rush of the air in the room escaping. Sorrenson heard weapons opening fire, one of which he assumed was Jillian’s, but he dared not poke his head out of his hiding place to look. The gunfire was short lived. He was cowering in the silence, debating whether he should check what was going on when a combat suited figure thrust a rifle in his face and motioned for him to stand up. As he was led back out into the garage, he avoided looking at the splash of red, which was all that remained of Jillian’s helmet. Sorrenson saw bodies littering the ground near the locks and armed troops with UNSA insignia standing guard over what looked to be prisoners from the facility. He was put in with the rest of the captives sitting on the cold floor of the garage and saw more being brought over as the facility was emptied of all resistance. Some of the UNSA troops were busy sealing the lock they had blown their way through in gaining entry to the facility. Once the lock was resealed, Sorrenson’s flimsy emergency suit slowly deflated against his body as the atmosphere was pumped back in. They were then ordered out of their suits and herded into a small office at the end of a corridor away from the garage. The facility staff, talked quietly and worriedly. Sorrenson just sat and silently cursed his luck. Guards came by and led the people in the room out one by one and when it was his turn, Sorrenson followed along meekly.

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He was led into what had been a conference room and left standing before a powerfully built man with dark hair and blue eyes. The man looked up and asked, “My name is Commander Adrian Daniels of UNSA. What’s your name and position here?” “Uh, my name is Andrew Sorrenson,” Sorrenson replied shakily. “I don’t work here – I just run a delivery route.” Commander Daniels nodded at him, “We know who you are Mister Sorrenson. The regional director at Asimov informed us when we pulled in on patrol the other day. We tried to get him to bring you back in, but you had already left by then. When we found out that both a MNASA and a FESEA team had followed after you, we used one of our communication drones to scramble a team from Bradbury. “Fortunately, we’ve known about this facility for some time and it is the only location MNASA would logically take an alien spaceship for study.” The Commander smiled at him and indicated that he should take a seat before continuing. “I’m guessing that you must have a rather interesting story to tell.” Sorrenson sighed as he sat down. “You have no idea. I nearly died twice, got betrayed by a friend, and had my comm destroyed.” Something in his jacket pocket was stabbing at him sharply. He reached in, pulled out the envelope that Jillian had given him, and laughed. The Commander looked at him quizzically. “Good thing I insisted on payment before I gave them the location.”

DISCOVERY

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The Commander frowned. “Can I see that?” he asked. Sorrenson hesitantly handed him the envelope. The Commander flipped through the tickets and the passport and then looked up at Sorrenson apologetically. “What? What is it?” Sorrenson cried when he saw the look on Commander Daniels’ face. “I’m sorry Mister Sorrenson. But the stunt you pulled leaving Asimov is a convictable offense of knowingly endangering a colony. While I think we can avoid a prison sentence under the circumstances, there is no way that any ship will transport a person with a record off of Mars.” Sorrenson opened and closed his mouth a few times in disbelief before dropping his head. “Nothing. It was all for nothing,” he whispered in despair. “Well,” the Commander replied, “it might not all be for nothing. Your report to Mister Greaves in Asimov does mean that you have first claim rights and are entitled to a standard finder’s fee.” He smiled and tried to sound cheerful. “Who knows, we might even name the alien ship in your honour.” Sorrenson buried his head in his hands and tried not to weep too openly.

Like what you’ve read? Do you want more? Go to www.occurrencenovel.com and start with OCCURRENCE: Episode One.
As humanity begins to explore the stars using the technology from the alien spaceship, it is without the full knowledge of how it works. But the technology’s mysteries may spell our doom and an indrepid group of explorers must unravel the riddle of a lost alien race to fight a hidden enemy in our midst before it is too late.

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