The Red Winds of Mars

Macek Furey stood at the edge of the platform, watching the red clouds billow in the distance. A massive dust storm the size of half a continent was sweeping across the surface of Mars towards the Annex. He took a few moments to look at the storm. The storm almost seemed peaceful, like a giant soft cloud slowly lumbering across the red world. But the more he looked, the more he thought he could sense something deeper and more violent. It would not be accurate to say that he saw something. More like he could feel it with his eyes. It was using the massive dust cloud as cover. He shook the thoughts out of his head and turned around to go back inside.

Next to the main port gate was a smaller gate that led to the airlock and decontamination for all personnel. He went through the procedure, then exited out into the uniform chamber. Macek removed his environmental suit and placed it back into the storage rack. He exited through the door that led to the docking chamber.

Inside, a gaggle of dockhands huddled in a corner of the chamber. They were grumbling about something that they did not want their boss to overhear. So be it. Macek crossed the chamber and ascended the metal stairs up to his office. He closed the door behind him. He took a deep breath and sat down at his terminal. His communicator hung on a mount by his computer, next to a photo of a young woman.

As he reached for the communicator, his eyes fell on the photo and Macek felt the familiar empty sorrow. Camille Furey, his daughter, lost to a horrible drug at the age of 21. Macek always harbored the guilt of a parent who failed to protect his child: that nagging feeling that he could have done something. He could have been stricter with her. He could have searched her room or told her she was not allowed to hang out with those losers he had always hated.

But now he had to save someone else. He called Evelyn Furey, his sister-in-law, and another relationship that had fractured into a thousand different wound channels.

She answered. She looked pale. She was tired and scared, and it showed on her face. Still, she forced a smile.

“Hey Mace,” she said.

“How’s the view from up there?” Macek asked.

“Heh, you know we don’t have any windows on this station. How are things down there?” Evelyn Furey was over 200 miles above them, on an orbital transit station where larger ships could dock without getting caught in Mars’s gravity. She had been one of the lucky ones to be evacuated. No, not lucky. Rich and connected.

“Have you heard from Dawson?” Macek asked.

“No. He still won’t talk to me. But I’ve been worried about him, too. When was the last time you spoke to him?”

“The night I smashed that bottle on his face,” Macek replied.

“I’m so sorry it turned out that way. I know I fucked up a lot.” Her voice cracked. Macek could see tears welling up in her eyes.

“We all fucked it up, Eve. We all had a part to play in this…this…” Macek trailed off. What would he call it anyways? A situation? A drama? Maybe it was a cluster-fuck? He thought. Macek hovered his hand over the end-call icon. “Anyways, I’d better go look for him-”

“Wait,” she cut him off. “Do you have a way off of the surface?”

“If I did, you know I can’t tell you over Company net. Don’t worry about us. This old dock-jockey has a few favors I can call in. Big favors.” That was the most he was willing to say.

As if on cue, a team of Tharsis private security guards shuffled into the bay. Macek noticed they were clad in riot armor and carrying guns. Fucking guns on Mars.

“I gotta let you go, Eve-”

“Wait-” Macek ended the call. It was time to be a leader.

Macek descended the metal staircase and, straightening his posture, approached the head of the goon squad. It was a man he knew all too well, and not socially.

“What can we do for you, Officer Isenhart?” Macek never liked the man. He was rigid, both in personality and posture. Being bald with almost no neck, Macek thought he looked like a giant penis with ears.

“Furey! Get your monkeys under control!” Isenhart commanded, pleasant as always.

“Hey Boss, this Company boot-licker says we can’t go home!” Burke, one of his dock-hands said.

“Is that true, Officer?” Macek asked. Though it would not surprise him much.

“It’s Sergeant! And I told them to take shelter in their Hab-units.” Macek never liked how these pompous assholes gave themselves ranks, as if they had earned them the same way a soldier or cop had. These private col-cops looked like little boys playing policeman.

“Orders come from the top, Furey. Tharsis Corporate wants work to continue on schedule. At least as much as possible.”

“Doesn’t the Company know we can’t open the bay doors in a storm? Ships can’t even land.” Macek was the chief of the main dock for the New-Sheffield Colonial Annex, a sub-colony that serviced an archaeological dig site a few miles away. Though what kind of “archeology” would happen on Mars was beyond him. Nothing lived here before Earth corporations began colonizing the surface just over 100 years ago.

“Like I said, as much as possible. I don’t care if you sit here and twiddle your thumbs for the next few days. When the dust passes, the docks are up and running again. So no one goes far.”

“Ya, except for all the fat-cats they already evacuated,” Burke grumbled, followed by the rest of the dock-hands.

“And what about the safety of my people?” Macek asked.

“For the love of God, it’s just a little wind! Dust storms cross Mars all the time. Now I’ve had enough of this. Everyone get to your Hab-units! Await further instructions on when amenities will be available!”

“Well, I suppose we better do what the sergeant says.” Macek told his people. They grumbled, but they shuffled out of the docking bay one by one.

“I just need a few minutes to lock down the bay,” Macek said. “I assume closing procedures are still in effect?”

“Make it quick, Furey. I don’t want you to still be here when we pass through on our way back.”

“You have my word, Officer.”

“It’s Sergeant!”

After locking down his Bay, Macek fled out a back compartment and through some old maintenance passages. He swiftly navigated the narrow tunnels, recalling the route from years of using the passages for quick, and discrete, travel between the different neighborhoods of the Annex.

Macek emerged in a storage room on one of the lower levels. The slums. Dawson was once a star meta-physicist for Tharsis Corporation. After the scandal, Dawson was reassigned to living here. In truth, it was more like a house arrest. The corridors down here were tight and more industrial, not like the more livable passageways of the upper Habs. Macek found the unit. The door was wide open, alerting him. As he approached the door, Macek could hear a voice inside.

“No one’s here, Sarge,” a man’s voice said. “And we found Dawson’s anklet on the floor. Somehow, he got it off without alerting the station.” Damnit! More of Isenhart’s goons, Macek thought. He saw a shadow approaching the doorway and he slipped back behind the corner of the hallway. He would have to look somewhere else.

It wasn’t long before he had an idea. Macek went back into the service tunnels and followed the labyrinth until he emerged in a much nicer Hab-block. He went to Evelyn’s Hab-unit. Before the scandal, Dawson and Evelyn had shared the unit. Macek tried the front door; wide open. He could already hear the TV going off in the other room. Macek crept around the corner to see Dawson sitting on the couch, watching the screen. He lifted a bottle of whiskey to his lips and took a big gulp from it.

“Dawson!” Macek said. Dawson jumped up into a defense stance. He was thin; his shirt folded along the ridge of his rib cage. His face was gaunt, with sharp angles and sunken eyes. Macek also noticed the blue powder on the table. It was the same drug that had ruined Dawson’s life before all of this.

“Mace! What the hell are you doing here!” His words came out slurred. “Did you move in after I was kicked out, you sonofabitch?”

“Watch your mouth! We’re brothers, moron!”

“Go fuck yourself! Since you’re already fucking my wife you might as well go fuck yourself too!” He took an angry stumble forward. Macek put his hands up defensively.

“It’s nothing like that, Daws. I mean, not anymore. That ended a long time ago!”

“A long time ago? You’re my brother! How dare you?”

“You changed, Dawson. The drugs. The girls. You left Evelyn feeling alone. And I was hurting, too. After Camille died I- Eve and I found each other at our lowest.”

Dawson took a clumsy swing at Macek, which he easily side-stepped and returned with a hard right cross of his own. He knocked Dawson straight back onto the ground, his feet straight up in the air.

“Fuck, Mace. Are- are you real?” Dawson sputtered. Macek’s jaw nearly dropped at that. “Fuck, I thought I was hallucinating you-”

“We don’t have time for this, Daws. We gotta find a way to the station before…”

“We ain’t going no-where!” Dawson said with a strong flavor of resignation as thick as the smell of that whiskey. He tried to pull himself to his feet, but the drugs and booze weighed him down. He was like a turtle on its back. “We’re not supposed to go anywhere! They designed it like that!” Macek took a step forward.

“What are you talking about?” He asked.

“The fucking Company! The god-like corporation that controls all of our lives! They own us! And they are leaving us here to die!” Macek leaned over and grabbed Dawson, hauling him up and planting him on the couch. Dawson dropped his head in his hand. Macek slowly went over to the other side of the couch and sat opposite his brother. After Dawson took another swig of the bottle, Macek reached over and pulled it from his hand. The bottle came away easily enough.

“We need to go, Dawson. The storm is coming!” Macek put the bottle down on the table and tried to haul his brother up. Dawson struggled, but Macek was stronger and wrestled his brother’s arms away, pushing him towards the door of the Hab.

The door opened and Isenhart, leading several col-cops, entered.

“Well, well well,” he said. “Macek Furey bringing in his baby brother for us. I suppose I should thank you for doing all the hard work.” Isenhart glanced at the blue powder on the table. A shit-eating grin broke onto his face. “Book ‘em, boys.”

“Figures you boys would make the trams work for yourselves,” Macek said. Isenhart started-up the intra-colony tram.

“The trams have been allocated for official use only,” Isenhart replied. Macek knew Isenhart was not always by the book. He abused the badge just like anyone else.

A large group of citizens emerged from one of the hallways. They flooded the tram station, demanding answers on evacuation. Isenhart tried to calm them down, the same way he had with Macek’s dock-jockeys earlier. But they weren’t having it. They demanded answers. Of course they did: These people had money. People with money always expect to get what they want.

Isenhart issued commands, “Officer Garner, come with me. The rest of you stay here and secure this station. I will radio you when you are clear to return to Home Station.”

After the goons took defensive positions, Isenhart and Garner hauled Macek and Dawson onto the tram. Officer Garner set the destination to the Security Office. In this annex, the Security Office acted as the police station, and an armory.

When they entered the Security Office, Macek noticed immediately how empty the place was. The col-cops must be out in full force, trying to keep the people of the annex in line. Soon after, Macek found himself sitting next to his brother in a holding cell.

“You boys should consider yourselves lucky. Tharsis, for whatever reason, wants you back Dawson. And on top of that, they are willing to take you, too, Macek, if it makes Dawson easier to manage. I just got off the horn with them. Your ride is on the way and pretty soon you won’t be my problem anymore.”

Off the horn, Macek thought. This guy was a walking joke! Macek straightened up.

“Well, since we’re about to part ways, I’ve always wanted to tell you something, Richter.”

“And what would that be?”

“You look like a giant penis with ears! Has anyone ever told you that? You really do.” Isenhart frowned. His hand dropped to the pistol on his hip, but he slid it off before his fingers wrapped around the handle. Macek realized he almost made the man crack.

“Well, since we’re being honest, I’ve always wanted to tell you something, too. The truth is I’ve wanted to get you in this cell for a long time. I’ve always known that the Blue came in through your dock.” Macek straightened up.

“Were you active in the transport? Or did you get paid just enough to look the other way?” Macek only gave him a hard stare, but inside, a fury was building.

“No answer, huh? That’s fine. I don’t expect you to incriminate yourself. We both know that drug trafficking is above my pay grade. But day-in, day-out I had to respond to all sorts of calls because of that damn drug. Fights, muggings, robberies. And overdoses. Lot’s of those.”

Macek wanted to hang his head. The tough, old dock-jockey suddenly found himself unable to look the puke of a security guard in the eyes. Until he said…

“I was even one of the responders for a poor little girl named Camille Furey.” Macek shot up his glance to meet Isenhart’s, who was staring daggers at him. “And the only thing I want to say on that: karma. You ruined so many goddamn lives just to make a quick buck, and it all circled back around to you.”

Macek shot up and lunged at the cell. With his hands still cuffed behind his back, all he could do was kick the divider. The kick would have been strong enough to launch Isenhart across the room and onto his ass, but against the bullet-proof glass of the cell, Macek was more likely to hurt his own leg.

“You sonofabitch! I’ll beat you half to death and then throw you out into that fucking storm!” Macek yelled. But Isenhart was unimpressed. Only the faintest grin broke his facade.

“Your ride is almost here,” Isenhart said, then he turned and left the room.

Macek sat back on the bench. The rage was boiling up his head. He was close to seeing red.

“I’m not mad at you, or Evelyn,” Dawson said. It was abrupt, breaking Macek out of his own little world.

“The Company wants me back because of what I found. And really, maybe we’re lucky. Did you ever wonder why a meta-physicist was called to an archeological dig site on Mars?” Macek responded with a blank expression. Dawson grinned.

“I’m sure you heard the rumors and read the headlines: Was there an advanced civilization on Mars? Well, there was! Except they weren’t from here. They used this world as a prison. Inside that dig-site, were found a complicated structure, far bigger on the inside than it was on the outside. Such a thing is not possible, right? Well, we also found something else. A horrible life-form. And now they are free. And they are coming.”

“The storm?” Macek asked.

“Exactly!” Dawson said. “And when I realized that, the drugs became less of a part and more of a coping mechanism. I knew Tharsis, in all their green, would dig into that site and release the prisoners. It was only a matter of time. And when I threatened to go public with it, they retaliated.”

“So they trumped up charges and told the media that I was a drug addicted, whore-monger. Not that it wasn’t true, by this point. I lost my job. I lost Evelyn. And they stuck me on house arrest in the slums until I could be formally charged. But that never happened either.”

“How did you get that ankle monitor off, anyways?” Macek asked, and Dawson grinned.

“You’re not the only one who knows a few tricks. You may be the street-smart one, but I take apart particle accelerators for fun. That little toy was nothing to me.”

Macek laughed. “You arrogant sonofabitch,” he said.

“Watch your mouth. We’re bothers, moron!” Dawson said. They both laughed.

Not long after, Isenhart and Garner came back in with two bona-fined Colony Police Officers.

“It’s time to go,” Isenhart said. He hiked his thumb towards the door.

The tram glided along the lines away from the Annex. Macek looked back. The red clouds began to billow over the structure of the Annex, enveloping it. Macek swore he could hear something in the storm. It was like a mighty roar. He swore he could see - or somehow perceive - massive tendrils wrapping around the industrial structures. He could perceive thousands of bulbous eyes watching them depart the Annex.

These monsters would rip apart the Annex and then come for New Sheffield. Macek and Dawson had narrowly avoided death by minutes. For now. Hundreds at the Annex, even that punk Isenhart, would not be so lucky.