“Initiate landing sequence,” the pilot calls out as we make our descent from orbit. We are currently on final approach to the Mars colony.

The shuttle we’re on is specifically designed for flying in the thin Martian atmosphere. It relies more on thrust than lift as the air isn’t thick enough to support its mass. The gravity on Mars is just over a third of that of earth, so less thrust is required to get into orbit. Since the discovery of antigravity technology, lifting weights into the sky has become a lot more efficient.

The shuttle had come up to meet us from the surface when the interplanetary transport ship we were travelling on arrived in orbit. Along with two other shuttles, it will ferry passengers and cargo to the surface for several days before the transport leaves again for Earth.

“Helmets on please, prepare for landing,” the pilot instructs. We are all wearing full space suits, and we bolt our helmets on in case there is an accident on landing. If the hull breaches, we will need the protection from suffocation.

Thankfully, the landing is gentle, and we taxi down the three-mile long runway to the spaceport. A gangway is extended and seals onto the outside of the craft for the passengers to disembark. I make my way to the exit along with the other twelve individuals on this flight.

Unlike the other personnel, I’m not here to work on Mars. I have special permission to visit the base to make use of its unique facilities.

“Paul, it’s good to see you,” my uncle, Tobias, shakes my hand as he greets me in the waiting area. “Follow me.”

We make our way to the transport system. The spaceport is actually thirty miles away from the actual colony, to avoid damage if a shuttle crash lands.

A private transport pod is waiting at the station for the pair of us.

“One of the perks of being the deputy director is that I get to use the VIP car,” my uncle explains as we join the main monorail track heading to the base.

The city and spaceport are connected by a monorail. Although more resources were needed to build it than a conventional railway, it has proved to be more reliable. The dust storms that frequently blow past would potentially bury conventional tracks, and maintenance in a low-pressure environment is not an easy task. We are soon speeding along the Martian surface at ninety miles an hour.

The single carriage train is suspended like a cable car from an overhead metal bar. Two bars hang side by side suspended from a large triangular metal framework. The framework arches slightly upwards as it spans the gaps between the support structures. Not only is it supporting the weight of the tracks and train, it also carries pipe-work carrying water, sewage, electricity and communications between the two locations. Every few hundred yards we pass underneath reinforced concrete supporting arches.

“Now that we are alone, I can apologise for calling you Paul,” my uncle says softly, drawing me into a hug. “The fewer people who know about your change of identity the better. Doctor Cross is waiting for us in medical. It won’t be long before your wait will be over. I assume you have managed to get the alternative identification as discussed?”

“Everything is ready to activate, I just need to register the photo after the transformation is complete,” I reply happily, “After twenty years of being Paul I can finally become Phoebe. Due to the legal complications, I’m changing my surname to Phillips as well.”

“It’s a shame that the governments back home decided to outlaw genetic resequencing,” my uncle states, “I can understand the concerns regarding abuse of the technology. Our researchers here, being outside of Earth jurisdiction, have shown just what is possible with the latest nanotechnology, literally turning a cat into a dog. But until the restrictions are lifted, transsexuals like you have to make do with inferior solutions.”

“Reassignment surgery has come a long way in the past few years,” I reply, “even to the point where a full set of reproductive organs can be grown and implanted, but they still have to be cloned from a willing donor, and there is always the problem of organ rejection.”

“By changing your existing DNA using nanotechnology, we can effectively switch your biological sex, allowing your body to grow its own natural set of organs. There are then no long term complications due to transplanting,” my uncle agrees. “The law allows us to grow new organs, or enhance existing ones, but we can’t yet change the underlying code.”

My uncle has known about my condition for a number of years, and when he took up the post of Deputy Director of the Union Aerospace Corporation’s Mars facilities three years ago, he found out about the research programs in DNA manipulation and nano-rebuilding. He advised me to hold off conventional treatments, saying that the technology would soon be ready to do a proper job, and that they would be looking for volunteers to undergo the new procedure.

By the time I had reached my eighteenth birthday, two years ago, the new science of genetic manipulation had been banned following an accident on the ‘Scientia Expiscor’, a space station run by one of UAC’s competitors, Umbrella Corporation. They attempted to design a new breed of bee, resistant to many of the common diseases wiping out hives. The enhanced immune system produced airborne antibodies that started attacking the station personnel, effectively killing its creators.

Fortunately, being on an orbital platform meant it was easily quarantined. Most dangerous research is conducted in space for this reason.

Mars base is currently home to three thousand people, and consists of a number of buildings connected by airlocks. The majority of the construction is built out of Martian stone, and then lined inside with resin to give an airtight seal. As the atmosphere is so thin, the thick stone walls act as protection from interstellar radiation.
The common areas of the station are designed to be large and open to give a feeling of open spaces. The walls are painted white and there is plenty of lighting, and where possible, windows look out on the Martian vistas.

The buildings are arranged in a circle, and connect with a large dome in the middle that acts as the main public space. We disembark the private rail car onto the main station. A member of staff is waiting to take the car and park it out of the way. We are waved straight through the security checkpoint and ride the elevators up into the central building.

The central hub acts as the main connection between the various research laboratories, medical facilities, factories, workshops, accommodation and office blocks. The top of the hub is open plan with wide walkways leading to the various interconnecting tunnels. Around the edge are the main catering establishments with seating areas interspersed between planters. Varieties of shops are present, providing services to the residents of the station.

We slowly walk across the large room, my uncle acknowledging a few people as he passes. I’m wearing a VIP security badge, so it seems most people assume that my Uncle is escorting me on business, and therefore don’t approach us.

We head to the airlock for medical research complex Beta. Once through the double doors we enter a long enclosed walkway heading for the buildings. It seems that we have a way to travel, so we commandeer a couple of bicycles to ride the distance. There is a rack of them for anybody to use. The buildings have been spread out so any disasters won’t affect other buildings.

My uncle points out a building being repaired out of one of the windows, “that is the Lambda research complex. We were testing some new anti-gravity engines a few weeks ago when one broke loose from its mountings and ruptured a plasma tank. The resulting explosion blew a wall out causing an explosive decompression. Luckily no one was killed, but it did prove the wisdom of spacing the complex out.”

The bicycles are fitted with battery-powered electric motors, so we only need to pedal to get ourselves moving. The motors can maintain the speed once moving.

About halfway down the tunnel, we have to come to a halt as the main lights go out, leaving the dimmer backup lamps. The emergency doors that divide the tunnel into eight-hundred yard sections close.

“Don’t panic, it’s just a power fluctuation,” my uncle says calmly. “The doors automatically close in the event of a power failure, or if the pressure drops. Note that there are oxygen bottles and carbon dioxide scrubbers along the walls throughout the station in case of emergencies, as well as medical kits and fire extinguishers.”

We wait a few minutes, and the lights come back on. My uncle goes to the computer terminal near the next door, and presses a few buttons to reset the doors. The entire length of the tunnel is then accessible again and we continue our ride.

Ten minutes later, we are being greeted by Dr Samantha Cross in her office.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” she states as she shakes my hand.

My uncle bids his farewell and departs back to his own workplace, leaving me in the medical wing.

We are joined briefly by a research assistant, who enters to say, “The batteries are now fully charged and the network has been disconnected. Antigrav is functional and the bot-builder is ready for activation once the final data has been input.”

Dr Cross thanks and dismisses the young man before asking, “I assume you were in part of the complex that lost power a little while ago?”

“Yes,” I reply.

“Needless to say, we don’t want any power cuts affecting your treatment. Therefore, the chamber where the procedure will take place is entirely powered by battery for the duration of your stay. That way if anything should happen, you won’t be harmed,” the doctor explains. “The computers controlling the process are also working in isolation, so any power surges in the network won’t knock them out either. We have already lost three laptops when some idiot in maintenance short-circuited the network cables and sent high voltage down them.”

We then discuss exactly how I want to appear post transformation. Genetically I will effectively become my own sister after the process, but due to the potential legal problems on returning to Earth, I am going for a completely new identity. I’m therefore also opting to change my appearance. My black hair will be replaced with auburn, and my skin tone will be darkened from pale white to a Mediterranean tan.

The procedure will take ten days, during which I will be unconscious, suspended mid-air in a zero gravity environment. This is so that my body isn’t toughing anything, which will help with my body being adjusted. The first three days will be taken up with the nanites rewriting the DNA in every cell of my body.

Once I have the new code, they will then activate rapid cell regeneration. My body will effectively regrow using the new DNA template. During that time, my existing genitalia will reform into female organs and I will develop breasts. My body will also reshape itself to form the secondary characteristics associated with being female, such as wide hips and a thin waist.

After confirming all the details, and signing all the paperwork, including a number of disclaimers, I walk into the airlock of the chamber. There I disrobe as instructed and walk into the chamber. It is an eight-foot square box, painted white with a single light source in the ceiling.

“OK, I am going to activate the anti-gravity,” Dr Cross states through the intercom, “You should feel weightless in a moment. Let yourself float into the middle of the room. There are air jets and motion sensors in the walls, floor and ceiling. They will keep you floating in the middle of the chamber. It can be a bit disorientating at first, but you will soon get used to it. Once in position, I will release the sleeping gas.”

I float up into the middle of the space, closing my eyes as I find the sensation disorientating. I can hear the hiss of gas, and a cool breeze hitting my skin as the air pushes me into position.

I slowly wake up and open my eyes. I am floating in the middle of the stark white room.

“Welcome back, Phoebe Phillips,” a computerised voice states, “please stand by for gravity-plate activation.”

The gravity-based technology in use on Mars is twofold, firstly it allows areas of zero gravity to be created, for easy moving of cargo and scientific purposes, but it also increases the gravity in the base to be similar to Earth. I find myself gently dropping to the floor, having already been in a standing position.

The airlock door in front of me slides open and I emerge into the smaller outer chamber. On one wall, there is a full-length mirror, and a new spacesuit is hung for my use.

I look at myself in the mirror. The figure that stares back is not what I was expecting from my discussions with the doctor. I definitely appear to be female, however I’m far more muscular than I expected. I had specified a cute button nose, not the larger one I find in the middle of my face. My auburn hair is cut and styled in a short pixie cut. I could have had long hair, but that isn’t very practical when working in space where you frequently have to be able to get a helmet on and off.

I turn and examine the suit. It is black and appears to be made from some kind of synthetic polymer. I put on the garment, which is exceedingly loose. The is no zips of fastenings to hold it shut, and I wonder what is supposed to hold it together when I spot a small touch-screen control panel on my left arm. I hit the activate button and the suit immediately shrinks, moulding itself tightly to my body. The edges join and merge to form an invisible seal.

“Booting neural interface,” a computerised voice says in my ear. “Self diagnostic checks activated. Please say ‘three blind mice, see how they run’ to confirm cochlea implant functionality.”

I comply and the voice responds, “Audio feedback confirmed. Sound is delivered directly into your inner ear. Only you will be able to hear audio generated by this system. You can also issue voice commands that will be picked up by the sensor, even if whispering. Activating optic nerve interface.”

A spinning 3D UAC logo appears about three feet in front of me. I reach out to touch it, but there is nothing there.

“You should now see a spinning logo, please confirm,” I’m instructed.

“Yes, I can see it,” I reply.

“Please calibrate the floating keyboard. Hold your hands in mid air in a position comfortable for typing,” the computer states.

I look down and hold my hands in front of my stomach. A keyboard appears in mid air. A semi-opaque rectangle appears on top of it with writing, similar to a laptop screen. I follow the instructions, typing in mid air. The information explains how I can move the floating panels and keyboard around with hand gestures. It feels slightly weird controlling items that only appear in my head.

The final part of the sequence is to choose a verbal activation word to enable and disable the interface. I opt for ‘Daedalus’ as this isn’t a word commonly used and won’t likely appear in normal conversation.

Once everything is complete I go to leave the chamber, but the door is locked. Trying to open the door sends a voice message to my suit, which I immediately play.

“Phoebe, this is Samantha, I know you are disorientated and wondering what is going on. You won’t have been expecting the neural interface in the suit,” the voicemail states. “I need you to remain calm and focused. Something terrible has happened, and to keep you safe I had to modify your treatment. Unfortunately, if you are hearing this it means I am most likely dead. I could even be in the room outside, so please be prepared. I will leave further details on my laptop, username SC04, password paradise45. The door code is 1147.”

The message ends and I punch the number into the panel. The outer door slides open and I step out into the laboratory. The main lights are out, leaving the dim backup system illuminating the room. The air is stale, but breathable.

Looking around, I see Dr Cross slumped across one of the tables. Used medpacks are strewn across the floor. I pull the body back up into a sitting position. The woman is obviously dead. The cause of death appears to be multiple stab wounds to the chest. The nanite gel from the medpacks obviously wasn’t enough to repair the damage quickly enough.

I try to boot up the laptop on the desk, but it fails to do anything. I take it and walk over to the treatment chamber. According to the terminal on the outside, the chamber still has two hours of power. I plug the laptop in and power it up. As suspected, it is out of battery life. I log in using the credentials specified. I immediately spot a document on the desktop, addressed to me, which I open and read.

Phoebe,

All hell has broken loose here. I don’t know how or why, but a nanotech-based virus has spread throughout the populace. We have initiated a full lockdown and quarantine, but it seems already to be too late. The nanites are rewriting our genetic code and mutating us. At first, we thought they were doing it at random, but now I’m not so sure. I have a feeling that this might be deliberate.

There are several different types of nanites. The first generation is what can be found in the gel in the medpacks. These are pre-programmed to perform a specific task, mainly to speed up the natural healing process and repair damage to the body. They form a neural network between them to act as one large system.

The second type is what we initially used on you. These are also pre-programmed, but have the added ability to self-replicate, creating copies of themselves if they can find the raw resources in the body.

The third type is what’s on the loose. The difference is that these can be reprogrammed once deployed. It seems that the virus is learning and reprogramming itself as it replicates. If it finds any existing mark 3 nanites, it exploits a weakness in the communication protocol to take them over and spread. We haven’t been able to break the encryption and shut them down remotely, despite numerous attempts.

I have injected you with what is effectively a forth type. These are a variation on the type 3 design, but with different software. They also communicate using a different frequency and communication protocol that is deliberately incompatible with the mark 3 design. I have programmed these to hunt and destroy any type 3 they encounter, so you should be safe from infection.

I have also bio-encoded them to your body so that they can’t spread. You can if needed inject some of your nanites into another person to hunt type 3’s, but they won’t reproduce and will self-destruct after a couple of hours for safety.

Main power is offline, but I have rigged up a transmitter that you can use to call for help. It is imperative that you get out with the prototype nanites inside you. They will be needed so that more type four bots can be replicated to counteract the infection.

In order to help you escape, I have upgraded your treatment program to the one we designed for creating super-soldiers. Your muscles are now as strong as physically possible. If it was still running, you could have competed in the old Worlds Strongest Man competition. I have upgraded you skeleton with carbon fibres so that they don’t disintegrate under the force of your muscles. Your lung capacity is about 50% larger than normal and ultra-efficient.

As you have noticed, the nanites have implemented a neural interface with acts with the computers in the suit to give you full augmented reality. You can take the micro-drive out of this laptop and install it in the panel on your arm.

The drive not only contains all my research, it also has an encyclopaedia and schematics of the base. Take it with you and get yourself and my data to safety. There is too much data to transmit safely, and I don’t want the information transmitted over an unsecured channel. If the research fell into the wrong hands, there is no telling what could happen.

Good Luck
Dr. Samantha Cross

I have a good idea what might happen if the research falls into the wrong hands. I have a suspicion that I am living through the consequences of just such an event.

Figuring that my suit must have some communication functions, I fire up the interface. It does indeed have a transmission module, but I am unsuccessful in establishing contat. After checking the encyclopaedia and help system, I determine why.

The transmitter is low powered and designed for use in the open. The walls of the base are thick to act as radiation shielding, but this also blocks radio waves. Normally there is a wireless network operating internally, but that must be offline due to the power outage in this section.

I can’t tell how much of the base is effected, as the windows in this room face outwards, away from the other buildings. The door to the corridor is not only locked, it appears to have been welded shut. Dr Cross was obviously determined to keep someone or something out, but I am yet to discover who or what.

I search the rooms to which I have access. The main area has generic workbenches and computer stations. Various items of laboratory equipment are sat around. Off the main room is the zero gravity chamber, and the room next to it appears to be access to the batteries that have been powering it.

At the other end of the room are a couple of walk-in storage cupboards. The first contains chemicals of various descriptions. In the second, I find larger equipment, including the gas torch used to seal the door.

I check the building schematics. There is a landing pad on the roof for receiving emergency patients flown in from outside the base. This is one of the first buildings constructed in the colony, and originally served as the infirmary as well as limited office and living accommodation.

The main hospital block is now in a different building, and this has now been repurposed as a research block. It looks like it is planned for this to be the treatment area for paying guests, such as myself, to visit, separate from the main colonies needs.

The difference is I’m getting the treatment free in return for being a guinea pig for the procedure.

Following the schematics, I’m able to locate a cable behind one of the panels going to the satellite dish on the roof. I connect it up to the wireless network relay on the wall and run a power cable from the remaining live batteries. I’m an electrical engineer by trade and I have spent the last four years learning how to install and repair networks and cabling.

I fire up my jury-rigged device and attempt to raise help.

“This is Phoebe Phillips in lab Beta 4, can anybody hear me?” I repeat the call several times.

“This is Mars emergency control station alpha,” a crackly voice replies, “we are receiving. Hold on, we are trying to boost your signal, establishing digital video link.”

A video window appears in mid-air in front of me, pumped directly into my optic nerve by the suit. I realise from the insert in the top corner that there is a video camera on my left wrist. I position myself to look into the camera.

“Uncle Tobias,” I say, glad to recognise the face on the screen.

“Phoebe, it’s good to see you. I was worried you may have been killed. We lost contact with Dr Cross four days ago,” my uncle replies. “Is she with you?”

“Only in spirit, it looks like she died a while ago,” I answer. “How long is it since I arrived?”

“That was sixteen days ago. You were due out of the chamber six days ago, but quarantine was activated eight days ago. We locked you in for safety. I assume that the power has now failed and it released you.”

“Power is low, but it appears the chamber is still functional,” I state. “I think I’m awake because Dr Cross arranged for it. At some point, she injected a second set of nanites into me. She’s upgraded my physical capabilities and implanted a neural interface so I can take advantage of this prototype suit.”

“Move the camera so I can a look at it.” Tobias instructs.

“Hold on,” I say as I walk back to the mirror so that he can see my full reflection.

“That looks like an HEV6. I didn’t know she had access to one of those. That’s the latest model,” my uncle exclaims.

“One was sent to the Beta labs to be tested for x-ray protection. Theirs is the only functional X-ray since the one in the hospital is awaiting spare parts and the x-ray lab in Lambda is offline while the structure is repaired,” one of the other people with my uncle remarks.

“Dr Cross claims the nanites in me make me immune to the infection, and I have her research here which may help solve the current situation,” I state.

“Can you get to the roof? We will dispatch a transporter to pick you up,” my uncle asks. After confirming details with his colleagues he adds, “ETA 50 minutes.”

“Okay, it might take me that long to get out of this room. The door has been welded shut. I have a map of the facility, and will find a way upwards,” I state.

Before I start to work on the door, I decide it might be beneficial to arm myself. Dr Cross was obviously scared of something in order to go to this much trouble, so it seems wise to be prepared. One of the machines appears to be some sort of press for sealing packages. It has a long metal handle that I can unscrew and take with me. It appears to be solid metal and is a couple of feet in length.

It takes me at least three quarters of an hour finally to get the door open. I edge out into the dimly lit corridor, metal bar in hand. There is no sign of life as I creep down the hallway. Reaching a flight of stairs, I climb up to the top floor above, my footsteps echoing through the concrete stairwell.

I emerge from the stairs into a large reception room. Bench seating is round one side and a large desk sits in the middle of the floor. Two corridors and several consulting rooms are off to the sides. It appears to be some sort of clinic. I can see signs for two wards, dentistry, x-ray, and operating theatres on the wall.

I take note of the sign indicating the direction of the roof access and head towards the right hand corridor. I can hear a low rumble from above me. Although the Martian air is thin, there is enough of it to transmit sound waves. It sounds like my backup is landing.

As I pass the dentist’s office, the door bursts open. A creature leaps forward, knocking me over. I roll onto my back as the thing jumps on top of me. The beast is humanoid in shape, but is unlike anything I have seen before. The skin on the head is a pale purple, scaly, and distinctly reptilian in nature. I notice that the sharp yellow teeth are pointed as its open mouth attempts to bite me. I have my arm in the way and hold it off as it tries to use its weight to crush me and get closer.

The bipedal animal is at least seven feet tall and must weigh at least twenty stone. Luckily, the artificial gravity in this section is failing, so it only feels about fifteen. The most disturbing aspect is its right arm, which has somehow been merged at the wrist with a dentist’s drill, the hand being replaced by the implement. I grab its arm as the high-pitched whirling drill bit comes within inches of my new nose.

“Release her or I open fire,” I hear a man’s voice shout.

The creature turns its head and looks at the three approaching figures. It growls at them as they come closer. The lead male is holding a pistol, aimed squarely at the beasts head.

I take opportunity from the distraction to launch the creature across the room using my improved strength. It slams into the far wall, which momentarily winds it, before it starts charging back in our direction.

Two shots ring out as the soldier fires his weapon, hitting the beast between the eyes. It stumbles and falls at our feet.

“What the hell is that thing?” Lance Corporal Bates asks.

“From the security badge on the uniform it’s Dr Jennings, the dentist,” Sergeant Baxter replies as he lowers his gun.

“Jennings is all of five foot five, he did some of my fillings,” the third man, Lance Corporal Cranberry states.

“Considering the half eaten bodies we found in the ward back there, I would hate to think where it might have gained the mass from,” Bates replies, looking slightly queasy.

“Let’s not hang about and find out. There could be more things about. This building is supposed to have around fifty people working in it,” the sergeant states. “Are you okay, Miss Phillips?”

“Fine, thanks,” I reply as I get up and dust myself off. “Lead the way.”

We make our way to the airlock for the roof.

“We have a spare spacesuit for you here,” Cranberry says as the others pick up their helmets and secure them in position.

“You will also need this,” Bates states as he hands me a headset. My suit immediately analyses the device and asks if I want to copy the settings, which I do.

“I don’t need either, this suit is fully equipped,” I reply, my voice transmitting directly into their earpieces. I pull the hood from behind my head and secure the bag over my head. It immediately seals, inflates and solidifies into a transparent spherical dome.

“Jesus, I’ve seen some advanced tech in this place, but that is seriously out of this world,” Bates exclaims.

“I will take the air canister, though,” I declare. “This suit only has a fifteen minute air capacity built in.

“We only need to make it to the transporter, a few minutes’ tops,” Baxter replies.

We open the outer door of the airlock and walk towards the waiting craft.

An object whizzes from our right and slams into ground a few yards ahead of us. The bright plasma ball explodes in front of us, scorching the reinforced concrete roof. We dive for cover behind some exhaust chimneys as further shots head in our direction.

Another reptilian creature is climbing the communication mast on the side of the roof. Like the previous beast, this has objects protruding from its body. This one seems to have oxygen bottles sticking out like spines from its back, and its left arm is a plasma gun.

It turns its attention to the transporter, which on seeing onslaught has taken to the air. The aircraft opens fire with its cannon, cutting the right arm of the beast off, causing it to fall to the ground, screaming in pain.

As it falls, it unleashes several shots into the aircraft, hitting one of the antigravity thrusters. The resultant explosion sends the craft spiralling out of control. We dash to the edge of the roof to see it crashing onto the covered access way connecting this building to the central hub. A fireball rises into the sky and quickly burns out due to the lack of oxygen. The chances of survival from the crash are practically zero.

The monster groans as it staggers to hit feet. Although seriously wounded, it doesn’t appear to be bleeding. I guess the nanites inside it have done their job, sealing the blood vessels and limiting damage, assuming that this thing still has blood. Its skin is obviously exceedingly tough to resist the low-pressure environment that would rip a normal human apart.

“Fall back,” Baxter shouts through the radio as we retreat into the airlock, barely getting it closed before it is hit with more plasma fire.

We don’t wait for the pressure to equalise, and instead hit the emergency button to open the inner door. We rush inside and down the ramp to the floor below, where the triage station is located.

“Baxter to base, Baxter to Base, Blackhawk down, I repeat, Blackhawk down. Come in base,” the sergeant shouts into his communicator. “Shit, I’m not getting any response.”

“The walls are too thick, these communicators aren’t powerful enough,” I state. “We can use the transmitter I rigged earlier downstairs, assuming the aerial is still intact up there.”

We make our way back through to the reception area, the three men with their weapons drawn. I’m still clenching my improvised metal cosh.

As we approach the body of the fallen dentist, it twitches and starts to get up, despite having half its head missing, its brain having been splattered over the walls by the earlier gunfire. It starts to stagger in our direction, the sound of the drill echoing through the otherwise silent room.

“How the fuck is that able to do that?” Cranberry shouts in alarm.

“It’s the nanites, they must be controlling it,” I reply as we edge backwards from it.

“In that case the only option is to dismember it. It can’t do anything without any limbs,” Bates states as he opens fire on the creature, causing it to stagger backwards.

“Cease fire,” the sergeant orders, “Save your bullets, we need to find a better way of dealing with this. Fix bayonets!”

Baxter slots the six-inch blade into the end of his rifle and attempts to stab the creature in the shoulder with his full force. The pointed blade barely penetrates the surface. The protective space suit and the hardened nanite improved mutated human skin resisting the onslaught remarkably well. The former dentist swipes the sergeant with its arm, the muscles of which are visibly larger than normal, sending the man flying across the room.

“This isn’t working! Spread out, dodge its attacks and find something useful to hit it with,” Baxter shouts as he picks himself up.

Cranberry grabs a plastic chair and tries to hold our adversary back. Bates runs into a side room and returns with a putter. It would appear one of the doctor’s likes to play golf and had the club in his office.

Bates proceeds to attack. There isn’t much weight in the head of the club, but it can swing fast. The dentist drill that has replaced one of the arms isn’t robust enough to withstand the assault, not being designed to withstand lateral forces. The soldier also manages to smash the fingers of the remaining hand. The cracking of which is very audible. The broken bones protrude from its damaged appendage, and blood is splattered across the room as Bates hits a second time.

In the corner of the consulting rooms is a floor-standing angle-poise lamp. It is around six feet tall and has a very heavy base to stop it toppling over. Using my increased strength, I can lift it without difficulty.

Edging round the back of the opponent is straightforward. Without the majority of its head, it seems to have very little situational awareness with barely any of its senses functional. I swing the lamp over my head, bringing the heavy base of the lamp down onto its shoulder to the sound of a large crack and squelch as the joint shatters. It collapses to its knees as I bury my foot into its other shoulder, sending it flying forwards, and face down.

Bates jumps in the air and lands with both feet onto the rear of the closest knee before bouncing off and spinning round. The offensive has had the desired effect. With three major joints crippled, the beast can only squirm on the floor. It no longer proves a threat. Baxter positions himself in front of the downed opponent and orders us to withdraw. A carefully aimed bullet down through the top of the exposed neck and into the spinal column reduces the mass of flesh to only slight twitches.

“Let’s get out of here before the nanites can repair it, or anything else turns up,” Baxter orders.

We proceed down the flight of stairs to where I had previously set up my radio equipment. It doesn’t take long to raise base and explain the outcome of the rescue attempt. With plasma-toting goliaths running round outside, it isn’t safe to attempt another airborne assault. We will therefore need to evacuate by foot.

If we can reach the tram station, we can rendezvous with the main military force. A bunch of marines has secured the platforms to the spaceport where most of the remaining personnel have retreated. It seems that not everyone is susceptible to the nanites. About one in five of the base staff has remained unaffected by the outbreak. Some have been found to be carrying the manufactured virus, but no mutations have occurred. This only corroborates the theory that this is a deliberate act. Nobody has been able to reverse engineer the infection criteria to determine who has been targeted and more importantly, who has been spared.

There are three possible routes out of the building, four if you include walking on foot from an airlock, but that isn’t a sensible option with what may be waiting outside. The connection to the central hub was damaged by the transporter crash, so is likely to be inaccessible. This leaves the connections to the other two neighbouring buildings.

In a clockwise direction round the central hub is the new hospital building. We all agree that the last place to head to in an outbreak is the medical centre, as that is likely to be the epicentre of the infection. We are having enough problems just being in one of the medical support buildings, without going to where there are likely to be further mutants.

The favoured option by all is to depart in the opposite direction, heading towards the Lambda complex. This is the building used primarily for weapons testing. It also has garages containing vehicles undergoing trials, along with the workshops and maintenance facilities to support the testing programme.

We are short on weapons and ammunition. The Lambda complex will be the idea resupply point for moving forward. The security was already on lockdown before I arrived, and very few people were inside the building while repairs were being made, pre-disaster. With the central security server that authorises access being offline, the only way to unlock doors is with a security number entered locally. My uncle transmits an encoded file through to us containing the unlock codes for the doors. Its password protected using my original middle name, something that isn’t widely known. I quickly decode it without letting anybody eavesdropping have full access to the base.

The security overrides consist of seven digit numbers entered directly into keypads next to the doors. The locks are electromagnetic and can be opened without power by hand-cranking enough energy into them using a winding handle. We successfully make it to the next building using the codes and manually power generation. It is slow going.

We break into one of the security workshops in the basement. Most of the weaponry being tested has been piled in the storage area while the hole in the wall is fixed upstairs. The three soldiers soon arm themselves with spare weaponry and ammunition.

Bates picks up a shotgun and a rucksack full of shells, which will come in useful for close combat fighting. Baxter finds a plasma rifle, similar to the one we encountered earlier, but smaller and easier to carry. The one on the arm of the beast that shot down the transporter had one for an arm, but it was one designed for mounting on a vehicle or being used in a fixed position. Baxter has found a personal model, designed for use on foot, as an alternative to a machine gun.

Cranberry loads himself up with a bio-sludge dispenser. Some of the industrial waste produced by the UAC is highly volatile, corrosive and even slightly radioactive. There are large quantities of the stuff stored in barrels waiting for placing in landfill, due to its toxicity. One of the smarter weapons designers decided to put the substance to use as a weapon and modified a flamethrower to squirt the substance up to fifty feet.

He loads the armour plated reinforced cylinder onto his back and pumps the handle to pressurise the system for use. Like an overgrown weed sprayer, the weapons system relies on air pressure to propel its load.

I look round at the various weapons on offer and spot something on one of the workbenches. The auto-loading rapid-fire heavy machine gun is five foot long and weighs in at over 80 pounds, excluding ammunition. This particular model is normally too heavy be carried and is designed for attaching to a vehicle. Luckily, I’m not normal, and my upgraded body can cope.

I ammunition for this particular beast is designed to be exceedingly small, but delivers a massive punch by travelling over five times the speed of sound. The bullets are loaded into the gun from a continuous belt feed. I manage to strap the ammo container onto my back and I lift the gun up.

My suit immediately interfaces with the built in thermo-optic targeting camera so that I can see through the gun barrel, the picture appearing in front of me.

“Wow, I thought I had gone overboard,” Cranberry states as he sees me lift the massive weapon, “but that it ridiculous.”

“Are you sure you can handle that thing?” Baxter asks with concern.

I walk over to the firing range in the next room and release a short burst of fire. I have to brace myself against the recoil, but the dampening system on the gun is excellent and I’m able to manage the firearm, despite its large size.

“In that case, as you have the biggest weapon, you can take point,” Baxter states as we head for the main complex through the connecting tunnel.

The wide arched pressurised passageway stretches along the ground between the two buildings. Every hundred yards is an emergency airtight door. When I first rode through one of these, they were all open. Now they have to be opened individually as we reach them. We already had to come through six of these on the way to the lambda complex. We now have another sixteen of them to go through in order to reach the hub.

We make it three quarters of the way along the connecting tunnel to the central complex when the power seems to come on and all the doors in front of us open. The initial pleasure of the situation quickly evaporates as we see a large crowd of mutated, zombified people shambling towards us from the other end of the now entirely open passageway.

They appear to be armed with whatever they could obtain. Like our previous encounters, some of the people have their weapons merged into their bodies. Mostly they seem to be armed with implements suited to hand-to-hand combat. Several have knifes, there are a few axes, baseball bats, wrenches and hammers, all of various sizes.

“Open fire!” Baxter calls as he dashes to cover round one of the doorframes. Bates takes cover with his sergeant, dropping to his knees so that the other person can fire over his head. Cranberry takes the other side of the door.

I stand in the middle on the gap, and as I have both the largest weapon, and the one with the most range, I open fire first, spraying ammunition into the approaching crowd, which starts to fall.

The first rank of people fall easily, the second row climbing over the dead bodies until they too are hit and collapse. In what seems like a never-ending stream, the four of us use short burst of fire to slow down the advancing army.

I don’t see the enemy weapon until too late. As a large bloated individual collapses as my gun tears him in half, the person behind his fires his weapon. The flak-cannon is a particularly vicious anti-personnel weapon that delivers three pounds of high velocity shrapnel in each shot. The small triangular pieces of metal are as sharp as scalpels and equally as pointed.

I’m in direct firing line and my suit takes most of the force of the blast. I’m knocked backwards, sliding across the floor on my back. My helmet has been smashed and for a moment, I feel excruciating pain as nearly fifty spikes of metal penetrate my face. My vision blurs and disappears leaving just the video feed from the gun as my only sight.

“Pain suppression activated,” the computerised voice sounds in my ear. “Retinal damage at 93%, serious blood loss detected. Breathing impaired, releasing oxygen directly into blood stream. All nanites deployed for emergency repairs, please supplement with med kits as soon as possible.”

Lying on my back, I lift the gun upside down above my chest. I continue to open fire at the approaching hoard, downing even more as they approach.

“Fall back!” Baxter calls, holding his arm where some of the shrapnel has penetrated his armour.

Having discharged over a thousand rounds and tearing nearly fifty people to shreds, my ammunition is almost depleted. I aim for one of the windows that run the length of the passageway and concentrate fire onto the armour plated laminated glass. Seeing what I’m attempting, Cranberry adds some of his corrosive sludge to the mix. After a few seconds, the window cracks and we punch a hole through it. The sudden decompression rips the window from its frame, sucking the zombies towards it.

The emergency sensors immediately trigger the doors to close, separating us from the hole. The approaching zombies are now trapped the other side of the door, left to die in the low pressure of the Martian atmosphere. The drop in pressure causes their skin to explode as the drop in pressure reduces the boiling point of water to below the ambient temperature.

As the door slams shut, the valves on the emergency air supply bottles burst, quickly refilling the sealed space with air to replace the amount sucked out through the window.

Bates is looking at me in horror. I don’t know how bad the damage is as I toss my now depleted gun to one side. The camera deactivates leaving me temporarily blind until the camera on my wrist activates so that I can once again see, albeit from an unusual viewpoint.

Unable to talk, I point at the med kit mounted on the wall. There are emergency air bottles and med kits at regular intervals along all the corridors on the base. Taking the kit from his hands, I open it and smother my face in the nanite gel.

I stagger to my feet, and with the other three, we limp back to the Lambda complex, collecting the med kits from the walls as we return to the security post we armed ourselves from earlier.

Cranberry assists Baxter with his wounds while Bates precedes to pulls the chunks of metal out of my face and eyes using a pair of pliers. I explain about the different nanite types, and that the med kits, although using the same technology that caused the disaster, are in fact safe.

My vision slowly starts to return as the nanites do their work. The nanites from the transformation concentrate on repairing the optical damage while the type one’s from the med kits stop the bleeding and patch my face. I will have some nasty scaring initially, but the nanites will take care of that once the critical damage has been repaired.

“What now?” Cranberry asks the sergeant.

The commanding officer replies, “I guess we continue round to the next building.”

I call up the schematics to check our next destination, “That appears to be the waste recycling centre.”

“Great,” Cranberry sarcastically intones. “If Carter is right, they have rats the size of cats down there. The engineers are always complaining that they have to replace the cables as the rats chew through them. Quite how rats can chew through armour plated metal I don’t know.”

“Possibly with the assistance of nanite enhanced teeth,” I reply, “Dr Cross was speculating about the source of the nanites in her notes. She couldn’t work out how they were able to multiply undetected. They can replicate themselves in a living host if they have suitable raw materials.”

“Like metal cables,” Baxter states, noticing my implication. “As virtually all of the water comes from the recycling centre, it could be a source for infection.”

“Oh, great, don’t tell me we’ve been drinking rat piss. I thought the water tasted funny up here,” Bates says in disgust.

“Possibly, but its mainly just plain old human piss. All the water is extracted from the sewage and recycled. The drinking water is supposed to come from condensating moisture out of the air, but I’m not sure that the two don’t get mixed up,” Baxter adds.

The boys grab more ammo, and I pick up a shotgun to replace the chain gun I discarded earlier. We make our way to the access way to the next building and cautiously proceed through the connecting passage.

We make it to the next building without incident. We enter the complex through the toxic waste barrelling plant. This is where the ammunition for the sludge gun is extracted and processed. The acrid smell of industrial chemicals fills the air as we dodge corrosive puddles being filled from dripping pipes.

We quietly make our way through the outer rooms, the only sound being the constant thumping of the large piston driven pumps that move the waste through the system. We climb onto a gangway above the storage tanks, and slowly progress to the control rooms above. The building seems to be in a state of disrepair, but we can’t tell if this is the result of the disaster or poor maintenance.

We emerge into a large warehouse filled with barrels of toxic waste waiting to be transferred to landfill. As we progress through the space, we hear a strange metallic clicking sound. It starts like listening to white noise on a radio not tuned into a station. The sound slowly gets louder, and closer, as we progress.

A sea of silver flows towards us from the other end of the warehouse. My vision is still slightly blurry, but using the camera and heads up display, I am able to make out the approaching menace. Spiders, thousands of small metallic arachnids are walking towards us. The sound we can hear is the metal legs on the metal floor grates that allow drainage in case of a spill.

“Holey shit, they don’t look friendly,” Baxter exclaims. “Lance Corporal Cranberry, lay down a barrier with that slime of yours.”

Cranberry complies, spraying the green ooze in front of us. The spiders walk into it and start to dissolve, filling the air with a foul-smelling metallic aroma. This succeeds in slowing their advance, but doesn’t stop them entirely.

The spiders are joined by large rats. The vermin are indeed the size of small cats as they dash towards us.

All of a sudden, we are in pitch-blackness as the lights fail in the windowless room. The three military personnel activate the torches strapped to their body armour. The wrist mounted beams providing circles of light where they are aiming.

The nanites have increased my night vision, and my eyes adjust to see in the virtual darkness. The slight glow coming from the flesh of the rats and the people around me suggest that I’m capable of seeing light in the infrared spectrum.

Bullets are ineffective against the spiders, so fire is concentrated on the larger rats. As the spiders reach us, we stomp them under foot. Bates dashes to the side of the room, having spotted something useful. He grabs a carbon dioxide fire extinguisher and uses it to remove the spiders that are trying to climb our legs and bite into our suits. The cold blast of the pressurised air sends the mechanical arachnids flying.

The men are struggling to see the approaching menace, so I concentrate on the rats while they crush the spiders. In the space of a few minutes, I launch a dozen rats slamming into the walls as I kick them out of the way.

Despite our best efforts, we are becoming overwhelmed. A large rat succeeds in climbing up the back of Cranberry’s leg and sinks its teeth into one of the pipes on the sludge gun. The result is catastrophic, both for the rat and for the Lance Corporal. The highly acidic sludge escapes its container, covering the soldiers’ legs.

Cranberry screams in agony as the acid eats through the armour plated suit and his flesh underneath. As his legs smoke and blister, he collapses to the ground in a puddle of corrosive ooze.

Baxter grabs his shoulders and pulls him out of the mess on the floor. It becomes obvious that there is some intelligence behind the attack, as all the rats and spiders immediately target the fallen man.

The spiders find the holes in the suit and crawl up inside his clothing. They scurry across Cranberry’s face and as he screams in agony, they dive into his open mouth. He starts to choke as we release his helmet and spray him with the fire extinguisher.

Cranberry can only gurgle as blood sprouts from his mouth. Baxter pulls his pistol and points it at the fallen soldiers’ head. Cranberry nods and closes his eyes, as the Sergeant pulls the trigger, splattering the Lance Corporals brains across the floor.

We back away as the rats and spiders start to gnaw on the body, the acidic ooze being diluted by blood as the man’s blood leaches from his body. The three of us shoot and squash the few spiders and rats that aren’t concentrating on our fallen comrade and take the opportunity to escape while the majority of the threat is occupied.

The creatures have been emerging from a hole at the other end of the warehouse. We shove a barrel into the gap and I puncture it with a blast from my shotgun, letting the acidic waste trickle into the opening, preventing further incursion.

Bates and I provide cover for Baxter to open the next door manually, using a ratchet to wind the large door up enough for us to slide under.

We escape into a wide indoor roadway connecting several warehouses and processing plants. We proceed to a nearby security station to reload on ammo and treat our wounds. Baxter and Bates have received several bites. I apply nanite gel to the wounds from the med kits stored in the room.

“I suspect we may have been infected,” Baxter states solemnly as I wrap a gash on his leg in a bandage.

“I have instructed the nanites in my body to reproduce as fast as possible. If I can transfer enough some to you, they can act as an antivirus and hunt down any infected nanites in your system,” I reply.

“How do you plan on doing that?” Baxter asks, removing his helmet to wipe his brow.

I pull him into a passionate embrace, forcing my tongue into his mouth. I continue to kiss him until I hear a confirmation in ear that the transfer has taken place.

“Like that,” I say, “the tingling in your mouth is the nanites entering your system.”

I turn to Bates, who has also removed his helmet, and I repeat the process on him.

“That should hopefully keep you safe for a while,” I state, “but we really need to get out of here. We can’t stay where we are, as the air in here is stale. Without life support operating, the air is going to become unbreathable.”

The toxic fumes from the acidic warehouse and processing plant pervade the room. Reluctantly we put our helmets back on, as at least it helps keep the acrid smell from burning our nostrils. Leaving a pressurised environment is no longer a sensible option due to the damage obtained on the space suits. Only mine, with its advanced design, is still intact enough to resist the lack of atmospheric pressure.

“Where are we going to go?” Bates asks, sounding exhausted. “The only way out is via the monorail station in the main complex, and that place is full of zombies.”

“Maybe not,” I reply, looking at the map via my optic implant. “There is another monorail station in the next building. That is the main storage and distribution area. Passengers go to the main complex, but cargo comes here. We can access the transport network and bypass the main station.”

“Lead the way,” Baxter instructs. “Anything is better than trying to fight our way through to the beta team, assuming they are still alive.”

I lead the two remaining men through the dark complex. The power in this section is completely out, which may be a blessing in disguise. If the monsters are being directed by a central intelligence, then they were most likely relying on the internal security system, which will definitely not be working any more. Not that it was fully working before, but on emergency power the might still have been enough systems operating to track us.

We carefully and quietly sneak down dimly lit corridors and up a flight of stairs towards the main cargo delivery platform.

Breaking into an elevator shaft, we use an access ladder to climb three stories up to the cargo control centre. The offices overlook the cargo platform and warehouses, with windows out towards the transport system to observe the coming and going of traffic.

We reach an observation window in time to see a monorail car zoom past at maximum speed. A few seconds later, an object screams past leaving a smoke trail. The missile rapidly catches up with the speeding carriage, and there is a large explosion as the rear is hit. The force rips the vehicle from its track, pulling the overhead rail down as it falls.

The nose of the speeding train hits the ground and it cartwheels end over end, slamming into one of the arched support structures. The carriage breaks in two as it wraps itself round the reinforced concrete structure, shifting it sideways. A second missile homes in on the crash, the resultant explosion brings the arch down, causing the remaining monorail track to bend and break.

“Well that’s well and truly fucked,” Baxter states, “as is any hope of evacuating via the monorail.”

Our radios crackle into life, “This is base calling beta team, come in. Rescue team, come in.”

“This is Sergeant Baxter of the rescue team, can you hear me?” Baxter replies.

“Baxter, this is Captain Wilson,” the crackly signal responds, “thank god you are still alive, we though you may have been killed. Beta team were overwhelmed and forced to withdraw. They were returning to the spaceport via the monorail system, but we have lost contact.”

“We have just witnessed a monorail car being downed by a missile,” Baxter states, “if they were on it, then they are dead. Also, the monorail track is now out of commission in both directions.”

There is a long pause, and for a minute, I wonder if we have lost contact again. The radio sparks back into life, “In that case, you are on your own. If you can find an escape route, take it. We are evacuating from the spaceport. General Stanley has ordered emergency protocol 15b in twenty minutes. Good luck, base out.”

“What is protocol 15b?” I ask, wondering what the code means.

“Nuclear bombardment from space,” Baxter states sadly. “In the event that there is an uncontrollable threat on the base, either through a virus outbreak, or it comes under hostile occupation, then in order to protect the research falling into the wrong hands, or the spread of disease, the base will be destroyed.”

“Can they actually do that?” I ask. “I thought when Mars declared independence one of the reasons it succeeded is that it wasn’t possible for Earth to mount a military assault on the base.”

“The base has defences,” Baxter replies. “There are missile launchers round the perimeter that can intercept any incoming threat. Any nuclear blast wound need to be fairly close in order to breach the thick walls. With the power out and nobody to control the systems, we are defenceless.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Bates states, looking at a computer terminal on the other side of the room.

We cross to see what he is looking at. The readout is for power levels in the base. The warehouse section that we have just come from is showing a power outage, but the power to all other buildings has been restored. The base is almost operational again.

“This shouldn’t be possible,” Baxter states. “In order for this much electricity to be available in the grid the main reactor must have been restarted. Before we evacuated, it suffered an emergency shutdown. Someone, or something, must have fixed it.”

“This isn’t some random disaster. Dr Cross was right, this was deliberate,” I reply. “Somebody released the nanites in order to gain control of the facility. The question is who and why?”

“More importantly, how do we stop them, preferably without getting killed?” Bates asks.

“We have to reach the main control centre in the basement of the main complex. It acts as the nerve centre in an emergency and where anybody controlling the weapons system would have to be based,” Baxter answers. “Our main escape routes have all been cut off. The only way out of this base now would be if we took a vehicle out of here, or somebody sent a shuttle for us. Neither of which can happen with the weapons systems on, unless we want to be blown up. The only way out of this mess is to try to take control of the base.”

Bates and I nod our heads in agreement. I think both of us have realised we are on a suicide mission, but none of us want to admit the situation is doomed.

“What we are about to do is virtually impossible, and having already lost one man, it is entirely possible we won’t all make it out of here,” Baxter says solemnly. “We have to assume whoever in control has full access to the security systems. That means our communications are no longer secure. Even if we do neutralise the threat, we need to be able to convince General Stanley that we are genuine. I served under him before. There’s a codeword that we can use to verify our identity. Its from a previous mission and won’t be known to our adversaries, as it would never have been filed on this computer network. If when the time comes, I’m unable to give the code myself, use the phrase dolphin sixty-five.”

I go over to the next terminal and examine the cabling. Following the wires, I enter a side office and find a server and further workstations. The system is in lock down. A well-aimed shotgun blast disconnects the room from the main network. Flipping the power causes the servers to reboot, and I’m able to log into them directly using the emergency access codes supplied by my uncle.

“According to this, warehouse five contains a weapons’ shipment bound for earth. I think we may find some goodies that will help us,” I declare.

I lead the men back down into the warehouse complex. It takes us ten minutes to reach our destination, during which we have to shoot around twenty rats, however these appear more normal and are only half the size of the ones we encountered earlier.

With the help of a crowbar, I open the crates in question and pull out the large device contained within.

“Is that a BFG 80k?” Bates asks in astonishment.

“How did you know about these, I thought they were classified?” Baxter asks.

“I didn’t exactly, but I have heard of the earlier models. I just assume that this is a more powerful example,” I reply.

“I tested one of these,” Baxter states, “I launches 300 plasma balls in a 90 degree arc incinerating anything with the blast radius. The alternative fire launches a single massive plasma ball, ten times the magnitude of the one that shot down the transport. It is a devastating weapon.”

“I recognise these ones as well,” Bates states as he pulls a weapon out of the next crate, “Electromagnetic pulse rifles, designed to knock out electronic equipment. It has a setting specifically designed for use against nano-bots.”

“Let’s rock!” Baxter states as he grabs a rifle. I take the BFG, as I’m the only one strong enough to carry it. We each grab a riot shield to defend ourselves, although they may not be much use against heavy weaponry.

Baxter takes point as we depart and head for the main access way to the central complex.

“Wait,” I state as we approach the door to leave the building. I shoot a security camera on the wall, which falls to the ground in a shower of sparks. “If we are going to make it, then we need to go off grid. Every time we try and go somewhere, whoever is controlling this lot sends an armada of monsters our way.”

“What do you suggest?” Baxter asks, “There are only so many ways to get there, and we can’t simply run about outside. We either go through the connecting passage or take the train, and considering what happened to the last one, I don’ think that wise.”

I think about it for a minute. A smile crosses my face as a plan starts to form. I indicate that the others should follow me and I lead them to where one of the forklift trucks is parked.

“Hey, these things are built like tanks,” Bates states. “They’re fully pressurised and armoured against solar radiation so that they can work outside.”

“You’re thinking we can use one of these for protection?” Baxter asks. “It might resist small arms fire, but it won’t stand up to anything tougher.”

“I was actually thinking of using it as a diversion,” I reply. “These are battery powered, which means it should be a simple task to hotwire a remote control for it. All I need are some radios, which I’m sure we can find in this supply depot. Load it up with explosives, send it to the main complex and detonate. Meanwhile we sneak in by a different route.”

“How do we open the doors?” Bates asks. “We’ve been hand-cranking them open.”

“The power is back on. We can open them remotely from the terminal upstairs,” I reply, “The only door we can’t override is the airlock at the other end, but considering last time we got near they zerg rushed us, I doubt that will be an issue.”

“Okay, I buy the decoy plan,” Baxter declares, “but how do we sneak into the main complex?”

“The monorail tracks,” I reply grinning.

“Hello, didn’t we just witness the last train being blown to smithereens,” Bates says sarcastically, “I think they may blow up anything that moves out there. We would be sitting ducks.”

“I was thinking more of the catwalks above the rails. The amount of pipes and conduits running along the framework should provide enough cover to sneak along as long as we keep low. The sun is already below the horizon, it will be getting dark very soon. I know our suits aren’t airtight anymore, but I’m sure we can find some replacements round here.”

“Are you nuts?” Baxter asks. “Any minute now this base will be coming under nuclear bombardment. We don’t know if the base defences are even operational, let alone if they can destroy incoming missiles. Even if they do prevent a direct hit, there is still a good chance that there could be some nearby airbursts. At least inside behind several feet of reinforced concrete we stand a chance. Outside we would have no protection whatsoever.”

“I agree with Phoebe,” Bates states. “What better way to gain advantage. We’ll take them totally by surprise. By my estimate, the bombardment is going to start in a few minutes time. It will either work, and we’ll be dead anyway, or it will fail and they will give up wasting nukes, they don’t have many. Either way it won’t last for very long. I figure it’s going to take some time to rig the forklift, so we wait until the dust has settled a bit before we take a walk.”

Baxter considers our reasoning and reluctantly agrees with the plan. I use my professional expertise as an electrical engineer to wire up a remote control system for our ‘tank’, using my suit as the controller. The boys hunt and shoot all the security camera’s so our foes can’t see what we are planning.

We are disturbed part way through the build by some distant rumblings. The room temperature noticeably rises by a few degrees, but the radiation level warnings don’t sound. Bates was right, the bombardment is a failure and quickly ends. I hope that it has cleared the outside of the base.

We find some fresh armour plated spacesuits. The soldiers replace their existing suits while I slip mine on over my existing skintight prototype. We park our mobile bomb in the buildings airlock and proceed to the control room. We open the door to the inter-connecting passageway to the main complex. I activate the forklift and it slowly starts to creep forward. We set the remaining doors to open on a timer to coincide with the vehicle reaching them.

We make our way out onto the monorail platform and climb the maintenance ladder to gain access to the overhead catwalk that runs through the centre of the triangular support structure that the trains hang from. Although the framework is exposed, there is cover from the myriad of pipes and conduits that stretch between buildings.

The light is fading fast, and with the aid of wrapping ourselves in camouflage netting, we start to crawl along the metal walkways, keeping low to stay behind the pipe work.

From our high vantage point, we can see the progress of the forklift due to the flashing light on top shining out through the windows in the semi-circular covered roadway below. We progress as fast as possible, trying to reach the main building the same time as the decoy. We have the greater distance, as the forklift is going in a straight line between the buildings. We exited via the side of the warehousing and have to take a sweeping ninety degree left turn to reach the same building.

As we crawl, our radios pick up an open transmission from the surface. “This is Mars Base to Battleship Potemkin. I know you idiots can hear me up there. Perhaps you realise that this base is fully operational and I have a nice red button which when pressed, will obliterate you from existence.”

The voice sounds slightly familiar, but I can’t place it. The reply from the ship in orbit comes immediately, “This is General Stanley. To whom am I speaking?”

“For the moment, you can simply refer to me as God,” the exceedingly smug voice declares. “You see, this base is now totally under my control. I even surprised myself with how easy I gained control. If Tobias is up there with you, give him my thanks. Transmitting the security codes for the entire base was most helpful. I never thought knowing that faggot of a nephew of his would ever come in useful.”

Maniacal laughter fills the airways. The confirmation that it is somebody who knows me starts to creep me out as I crawl closer to my destination.

“What do you want?” General Stanley asks.

“I already have what I want;” the cold reply comes back, “The technology I’ve acquired from the research labs here will make me filthy rich for the rest of my extremely extended life. I already have buyers lined up. They funded my little side-project and are now waiting for delivery. Unfortunately, you are in the way, so I suggest you piss off, before I decide to shoot you down.”

“I can’t let you leave,” the general states, “I won’t let you contaminate Earth with your nano-virus. I’m well aware of the offensive capabilities at your disposal, having helped design them myself. One way or another, I will prevent you leaving that base. Surrender now while you have the chance.”

‘God’ doesn’t respond verbally. Instead, the sky is lit up as missiles streak into the sky from silos some miles distant. Laser beams fire wildly into space, in the direction I assume the transmission was coming from.

We reach the end of the walkway and open an airlock to gain access to the main facility. We have to enter one at a time, due to the small size of the maintenance access. Once inside we make our way through the power substation above the tracks that power the monorail. The main station is below us. We can see the remainder of the other security force lying dead on the platform.

“That fucking little shit is going to pay for this!” I shout as I take my helmet off.

“You know who’s behind this?” Baxter asks.

“Jason fucking Prentice!” I snap, “I met him at University. We shared some physics classes. I specialised in electronics, while he went into nanotech. Nobody liked the smug arrogant douche bag, even back then. He got himself expelled for unethical behaviour. The last I heard, he was working for Umbrella Corp.”

“That name sounds familiar. I’m sure that was one of the names on the security bulletins. He’s wanted for questioning in relation to the Scientia Expiscor incident,” Baxter states.

“Do you think he can actually shoot the Potemkin down?” Bates enquires, “he seems to be throwing everything but the kitchen sink up at them.”

“Unlikely,” Baxter answers, “I’ve served directly under Stanley, he’s a wily old goat. That ship uses some of the latest stealth technology available. He was most likely transmitting via a laser link to a remote satellite. Prentice will be shooting at ghost ships and false shadows.”

We make our way towards the main atrium at the top of the main dome. This is the main interconnecting hub for the complex, and is what I passed through on my way to the medical centre. It is in on the top floor of the dome and occupies the whole width of the building. The large space is filled with shops, seating areas, and large open walkways. It is one of the biggest open spaces on the base and is one of the only places to find trees on Mars.

We secure ourselves in one of the stairwells and under Baxter’s orders break radio silence to hook up with the forklift. It is in the airlock at the end of the connecting passage. As I start to receive the video feed, I see that the inner door is opening and a large number of armed zombies are waiting for it.

I hit the button and the vehicle lunges forwards at maximum speed. Admittedly, this is barely a fast walking pace, but it does send some foes flying due to the laws of preservation of momentum and its large mass. As it crashes into the bottom of the escalators heading up to the concourse, I press the detonator.

We feel the ground shake as the explosives rip through the upper part of the building. We watch from a slightly open door as the explosion sends a fireball into the open space on the other side of the wall from where we are hiding. The bomb has ripped through the remaining doors between it and the concourse, incinerating anything in its path.

We burst out of the stairwell before the smoke has stated to clear. A second wave of nanite-controlled mutants is waiting, sheltered behind planters and overturned tables in position for an ambush.

We emerge from their side, taking them by surprise. Before they can realise their flank is exposed I shout, “Hail to the queen, baby!” as I unleash the devastating power of the BFG. Three hundred miniature balls of lightning spread out in a ninety-degree arc from my position, obliterating everything in their path. Bates and Baxter take cover to my sides, and open fire on anything not caught up in the blast. I retreat through the door to wait for my gun to recharge, temporarily switching to my shotgun to blast anything that gets close.

The battle is short, and we quickly make our way to the centre of the atrium where the elevators down into the main complex stand. The dome is only the tip of the iceberg as most of this original complex is below ground level.

“To all of god’s creations, please return to the central complex,” Prentice’s voice comes over the public address system, “and while you’re at it, please kill the fucking annoying parasites that just owned half your asses in the atrium. You are supposed to be a superior fighting force imprinted with the tactical knowledge of every famous world general. Start proving it!”

“He sounds a bit annoyed,” Baxter smiles. “Do you think he’s referring to us?”

I giggle and smile in response before asking, “What’s the plan now? Face him head on?”

“I think it would be easier if we took the power grid down,” Baxter replies. “These lifts go down to just above the fusion reactor. The core is well protected, but we should be able to break into the turbine halls easy enough. A few well-placed shots with the BFG should knock out the generators.”

Baxter goes over to the elevator controls, and removes the face panel. He presses a concealed button inside and releases the airtight doors into the shaft.

“Riding inside the elevator is a bad idea, they can ambush us to easily,” Baxter states, “but we can slide down the shaft. Follow me!”

He leaps from the platform, grabbing the steel cables supporting the elevator car, and begins to slide down. Bates looks scared, and swears under his breath before taking a deep breath and following his commanding officer. I bring up the rear a few seconds later.

After we have all landed, we are still two floors from the bottom of the shaft. Baxter grabs the cable for the counterweight, and slides down the side of the elevator to the space underneath. Again, we follow. Once in the bottom of the shaft, we force open the bottom doors and carefully make our way out into the corridor beyond.

“Ah, here we are!” Baxter declares as we reach a door further down the corridor and enter an airlock. On the other side, we emerge onto a catwalk above two large noisy generators. We make our way down to ground level, underneath the loud machinery. At the far end of the room, large diameter insulated pipes emerge from the floor and enter the turbines.

“Those pipes are full of high pressure steam coming from the reactor core. Burst those and no more power. The core will start to overheat and should shut down again,” Baxter explains.

I take aim with the BFG, and on the nod of Baxter, I unleash the alternative fire mode. A large ball of plasma travels the length of the room, hitting the massive pipes. We dive for cover as a large explosion sends shrapnel flying as the pipes rupture. Debris from the shattered pipes enters the turbine blades, causing them to disintegrate in a loud bang. We run from the room to escape the hot gasses as they vent into the atmosphere.

Shutting the heavy airtight door behind us, we stand and catch our breath. The lights dim and go out before the emergency lighting cuts in to cut through the gloom. We examine our surroundings. We appear to be in an ancillary chamber. After going through the generators and loosing most of its energy, the steam enters this room, where the remaining temperature is used to heat air that is pumped throughout the complex to provide warmth.

We creep through the dimly lit room. The pipes gurgle and hiss as the pressure in them drops now that they are no longer being fed from the turbines. The explosion will no doubt have attracted attention. We carefully make our way through the gloom, listening for approaching danger in the dark corners amongst the myriad of pipes.

As we round a corner, a metal bolt hits Lance Corporal Bates and pins him to a steam pipe. The bolt is about two feet long, hollow, and has holes along its length. Not only is it designed to impale an opponent, it is also designed to make them bleed out, the holes and hollow centre allowing blood to flow from the wound, where a solid metal javelin may form a seal.

The ultra-sharp tip of the weapon penetrates the high-pressure steam pipe and the holes allow the steam to escape down the middle. Bates screams in agony as his insides are cooked by the gas. A red cloud of vaporised blood spurts from the end of the bolt.

Baxter rolls under the superheated gas jet, dodging getting cooked himself, and returns fire killing the goon with the spear gun. Bates writhes around for a few seconds before falling limp, his head and shoulder bending down into the jet of escaping gas, causing his head and shoulders to be scalded as well. The sickening smell of cooked and burnt meat invades our nostrils as we watch helplessly as Bates dies before us.

The sound of gunfire has attracted attention, and we hear footsteps heading our way. We take cover behind some pipes and open fire on an approaching group of mutants. Baxter is duel wielding an automatic assault rifle and an electromagnetic pulse rifle to disrupt the nanite containing bodies.

I provide backup with the shotgun. The BFG is recharging, and it would be unwise to unleash it in such a confined space.

Our opponents are tough, and take several hits each to kill. Baxter is hit in the arm by a couple of armour piercing bullets. The force of the impact spins him round. I return fire hitting an exposed pipe, sending superhot steam into the face of the lead opponent, who collapses to the floor as his face blisters and boils.

Two metallic objects bounce along the ground towards us and we dive in opposite directions as the fragmentation grenades detonate sending shrapnel in our direction. My suit takes most of the force of the impact, but my back and legs are hit, causing severe bruising.

A large green-skinned individual with a reptilian appearance runs towards us waving a chainsaw in our direction. He slams the implement to the ground, just missing me as I roll out of the way. I unload the remaining shotguns shells into his stomach as I roll onto my back, sending him staggering backward. The creature’s eye explodes, spattering the surrounding area with blood as Baxter shoots a bullet through its eye, the one weak spot on its reinforced skulled head.

I stagger to my feet, limping badly. I have to put my arm round Baxter for support as we hobble away, the sergeant clutching his bleeding arm.

We make it back to the elevators as one of them start to open. Baxter discharges a clip, killing the two shotgun-wielding occupants. We climb in and hit the button for a higher floor. The feeling slowly returning to my leg as we start to rise. Baxter opens the access panel on the ceiling, allowing me to climb out on top of the lift. Before joining me, he takes a laser trip mine out of his bag and positions it opposite the door. We close and seal the panel, hoping the any resultant explosion will be directed horizontally and not vertically.

There are three lifts in the shaft, side by side. We were on the far left one. As we pass a stationary lift car, we jump across, leaving the elevator we were on to climb above us. It comes to a stop two floors above us, several floors short of its destination. We hear the screams as the trip mine detonates, killing whoever was waiting to ambush us.

We start to prize the doors open on the wall before us. The third elevator starts to descend towards us as we manage to gain access to the corridor. As it passes a large beast with an angle grinder as an arm jumps across, feet first.

Baxter is caught by surprise, and he receives two feet in his stomach as he spins round to face the monster. The force of the impact sends him flying off the side of the platform and tumbling down the shaft we have just come up. I send the beast after him with a well-placed shotgun butt to the side of the head.

The elevator suddenly drops a few feet, the emergency brakes sparking as they slam on as the cable goes slack. I turn and jump towards the open door, which is now above me. The explosion, which caused the life to drop, is still ringing in my ears as I grab the ledge and start to haul myself up as the giant pulley wheels from the top of the shaft crash down onto the elevator below me, missing me by only a few inches. The force of the collision dislodges the elevator, smashing the emergency breaks holding it place, causing it to fall.

I pull myself up over the edge and crawl forward. As I start to get to my feet, I’m hit in the shoulder by a metal bolt. I scream as several thousand volts of electricity discharge through my body from the electrified impalement. The electricity overloads the suit and seems to disable the nanites as I lose consciousness.

I am awoken by the excruciating pain in my thigh. I scream and open my eyes. I’m tied down to a table, my wrists, legs and waist restrained by metal cables. A tall bearded figure is bent over my leg, cutting into it with a laser scalpel.

“Interesting, this suit has bonded with your skin. Removing it would take the epidermis with it,” Jason states in a cold businesslike fashion as he cuts a chunk of flesh from my body.

He squeezes the flesh over a glass plate, draining the blood as you would the juice from a lemon. He walks across the dimly lit room to place the sample under a microscope.

“Fascinating, some of your nanites are still operational. I do like what Dr Cross has done in adapting my designs, managing to come up with a nanite capable of resisting and destroying my own. Once I have incorporated her ideas into mine, my creation will be unstoppable,” Jason declares.

“Why are you doing this?” I shout at him.

“Now, now, Paul, don’t get your knickers in a twist,” Jason sarcastically replies. “This little scheme is going to make me rich. I will have cornered the market on nanotechnology once this research establishment is history. Plenty of customers would love to buy the weapons here, but UAC has too many principles to sell to anybody other than established government military. With the profits from this and with my nanites keeping me healthy, I can spend the next few hundred years slowly manipulating the world to my whim. Who wouldn’t like to rule the world?”

I struggle to break free, but the bindings are too strong. The interface to the suit seems inoperable, and I have no option other than to watch.

“Don’t waste your energy, sweetheart,” Jason mocks, “If you behave, I might even make you a real woman later, once I’ve neutralised that nasty nanite infection Dr Cross gave you.”

I spit and snarl in his direction as I attempt to pull myself free.

“You won’t get away with this,” I yell, “with the power out you’re defenceless. It is only a matter of time before the Potemkin realises and opens fire again.”

“You may have knocked out the main power, but it was up long enough to charge the reserve batteries. With everything turned off except the defence systems, there is enough power to last,” Jason replies, “as for your friends, even if they managed to avoid my fire, they used up all their nukes in one barrage. A ship is already on its way to collect us, and it will be fully armed. The Potemkin doesn’t stand a chance.”

“You’re taking me with you?” I ask.

“Yes,” he replies, “that suit and the nanites inside could be valuable when reverse engineered. I’m interested to see how the nanites have integrated with your optic nerve. If I’m feeling nice, I may even apply anaesthetic before ripping your eyes out.”

The radio on the bench beside us crackles into life, “This is General Stanley calling Mars base. Are you still alive down there?”

Jason applies a large piece of gaffer tape over my mouth, gagging me, before lifting the microphone and replying, “This is god speaking, haven’t you given up yet?”

“Your omnipotence is distinctly lacking for a deity,” Stanley counters.

“Very droll,” Jason answers. “Is there a purpose to this communication, or are you simply trying to annoy me?”

“I just thought I should warn you that your taxi has arrived,” Stanley laughs, “It should be with you in a few minutes. We helped to speed it up with some of our missiles. It is now rapidly approaching your position. If you point your radar straight up, you might just see it coming.”

The general laughs again, as a siren sounds through the building. The computer terminals in the room start to flash a collision-warning message. A countdown timer begins to count down three minutes to impact.

“Shit,” Prentice exclaims. He pulls a memory stick out of the computer he was using, and puts it his pocket. Taking the laser scalpel, he burns another lump of flesh form my leg and puts it in a specimen container.

“Slight change of plans,” he says, “I’ll just have to make do with the data I’ve already downloaded. I managed to take a copy of Dr Cross’s research from your suit, so I will just have to do with that. Goodbye.”

With that, he leaves the room. I focus my eyes on the numbers counting down as blood gushes from my leg. There is nothing I can do except watch the second tick away until my inevitable death.

I am about to pass out with only a minute and a half to go when the door bursts open. Baxter races through the door and slices the cables holding me down with the laser scalpel.

“How?” I ask in astonishment. I assumed he was dead from the fall.

He doesn’t answer, but instead slaps a handful of nanite gel into my wound from a med kit and lifts me over his shoulders. We take off at a sprint down the corridor as the timer hits one minute. I am looking backwards down the corridor and don’t see where we are going.

“Thirty seconds,” a voice sounds over the public address system as we leap into an empty elevator shaft and start to fall. I scream as we plummet down the shaft. This shaft seems to go much deeper than the others were in earlier. As we near the bottom, I close my eyes, waiting for the impact. It doesn’t arrive, instead I feel myself start to decelerate.

I open my eyes to see Baxter smiling at me. We are floating in mid air, several feet above the floor of the shaft.

“Isn’t antigrav technology wonderful?” he asks. “It’s an added safety feature in all Mars elevators to stop plummeting objects crashing into the bottom.”

Baxter presses a button on his wrist mounted PDA, and the field switches off, allowing us harmlessly to drop to the ground. An escape hatch opens beside us and we quickly enter as a loud crash above us signifies the arrival of the spaceship through the dome roof. The ground shakes as we make our way through the tunnel to a set of steps.

We emerge into a corridor and then enter into a server room full of computers. They appear to be powered down and the only light is from the emergency lighting. We progress into a side office where Baxter fires up a terminal.

“Welcome to the backup centre,” Baxter explains. “We are in a bunker below the main base, with the fusion reactor. We have half a mile of solid rock above us. This cavern was drilled out so that if the was an accident with the reactor, the base wouldn’t be harmed. Conversely, if the base above suffered a disaster, the reactor and backup data centre would be safe.”

The terminal finishes booting up, and we survey the damage to the base. The spaceship, a large interplanetary transport, has crashed through the roof of the main complex. It landed sideways, also taking out the Delta Labs and the hospital buildings. The base above us has been crushed, and is now uninhabitable.

“Did Prentice escape?” I wonder aloud.

“If he had a fast vehicle on hand, he may have been able to make it out alive. It seems he failed to make it down here. Your uncle didn’t include the codes for opening the elevator shaft,” Baxter replies, “I don’t suppose you noticed the horizontal sliding doors we passed on our way down, sealing the bottom half of the shaft. I opened them before I made my way upstairs to rescue you. It shut when we passed.”

“If he couldn’t get down here, how did he restore power?” I ask.

“The reactor never fully shut down. According to the logs, it went into standby due to a leak on the heat exchanger. One of the engineers under his control must have restored pressure and reactivated the system remotely,” the sergeant responds.

“What do we do now?” I ask.

“Let’s see if we can raise the Potemkin,” he replies. “There is a second shaft up to the surface. It goes up at forty five degrees and emerges part way along the monorail track to the spaceport.”

We bandage our wounds and wait while the type one nanites make repairs. Baxter ejects a series of solid-state storage drives from the computer banks and loads them into a specially designed container. It is the size of a large suitcase, and has straps so that it can be worn as a backpack. As I’m the strongest with my modified muscles, I offer to carry the device to the surface.

Half an hour later, we emerge into a small building at the base of one of the monorail arches. Baxter refills his suit with air from one of the canisters stored on the wall, and then exits through the airlock onto the Martian surface. He climbs a ladder onto the roof and repositions the dish-shaped mono-directional aerial so that instead of pointing towards the spaceport, it is directed straight up.

Our aim is to contact the Potemkin without alerting Prentice. The transmitter has been designed so that all the energy in the radio waves head in one focused beam, rather than spreading out in all directions. That way the signal travels further with less power, something that could become important in an emergency, which is for what this building is designed. We power up the radio by hand cranking the generator and start transmitting.

“This is rescue team calling Potemkin, do you read me? Baxter to Potemkin, please respond if you can hear us,” the soldier calls into the microphone.

“This is General Stanley; please verify your identity. Code phrase Newcastle twenty-seven, over,” the familiar voice responds.

“Code dolphin sixty-five, sir,” Baxter replies.

“It’s good to hear your voice,” Stanley sounds relieved. “Are there any other survivors?”

“Yes, Phoebe is with me. Cranberry and Bates didn’t make it,” Baxter solemnly replies.

“Did that smug bastard Prentice escape?” I ask.

“Is that the identity of the mysterious person calling himself ‘god’,” Stanley asks.

“Jason Prentice,” I reply, “Last known working for Umbrella Corp before their accident with their orbiting research station.”

“We have been monitoring activity on the planet from space. A fast moving vehicle left the main complex about five seconds before the impact. We lost it temporarily in the dust cloud kicked up, but it’s now heading across the surface at around forty miles an hour. It should arrive at the spaceport in about half an hour. There is still one shuttle on the ground. They had a system fault when they tried to leave, so aborted their takeoff. They opted to stay and fix it. I will get them to send a train to your location. The rail between you and the spaceport is intact. If we hurry, then you can have the honour of surprising the bastard when he arrives.”

“Assuming he isn’t listening in,” I state.

“I note that you are using a focussed beam transmission,” Stanley declares. “Luckily you managed to aim it at one of the monitoring satellites we’ve deployed. We are also transmitting in a tight beam, unless he is within 300 feet of your position, which he isn’t, the transmission will be too weak to hear. We have a nice wide-band jamming signal pointed at the vehicle. All he will be picking up is static.”

The storage lockers in the small building contain a variety of emergency supplies, including spare suits. As mine has been compromised due a chunk being cut out of it, I slip a fresh one on over my existing attire. Until I know how to unbond it from my skin, I can’t remove it anyway.

We exit into the night. Unlike on earth, where it is difficult to see the night sky due to light pollution, here in the darkness of the Martian plains, the stars are visible in all their magnificence.

Ladders allow us to climb onto a metal walkway next to where the trains pass. We watch the distant glow from the vehicle grow closer. The single-carriage vessel comes to a halt beside us. As with all Mars transport vehicles, it has an airlock, which we use to enter.

“Uncle Tobias!” I shout, wrapping the driver and sole occupant in a hug.

“Deputy Director,” Baxter says as he salutes.

My uncle throws the control lever and we start to reverse back up the track towards the spaceport.

“We need to get you up to the Potemkin as quickly as possible,” my uncle states, “We need those nanites inside of you to fight off the nano-virus.”

“I’m not sure how many are still functional,” I reply, “I was hit by an EMP. The suit has shut down, although my injuries still seem to be healing at an accelerated rate, so I must have some nanites in my system still.”

As we get closer to the spaceport, we receive a message that Prentice is close, so we shut off the lights in the cabin and on the outside of the train, so that we don’t draw attention to ourselves. We continue along in the darkness, stealthily approaching our destination in near silence as the electric motors glide us along.

As we slow down near our destination, we see the glare of headlights in the distance from the four-wheel drive utility vehicle. It is still travelling at speed, and collides into a building to the side of the main terminal. There is a bright flash and rumble from an explosion as the power fails and we glide to a halt short of our destination. Lights in the building ahead of us also fail.

“They’ve just rammed the emergency generator,” my uncle exclaims.

“I doubt they were still in the vehicle at the time,” Baxter replies.

“I guess we need to proceed on foot?” I ask.

“It may look like a long fall, but with the reduced gravity, we can easily drop the twenty feet to the ground without injury,” Tobias states.

We proceed to the Martian surface. Baxter is still armed with his assault rifle. My uncle came armed with a plasma rifle, and he hands me his sidearm, an old-fashioned revolver. With my improved eyesight, I don’t require night-vision goggles. I try some on, but can see better without them. However, the other two use them to follow me towards the terminal.

We proceed with caution, as we don’t know if we are alone. I spot a lone figure in the distance and shout to get down to my companions as he turns in our direction. I see a flash, and three hundred lightning balls spread out in an arc towards us. We can’t out run the BFG dispersal pattern, so we lie on the ground and hope they pass over our heads without causing harm. The ground isn’t flat. There’s a slight crest between us, which provides the minimum of cover required as the green orbs of plasma pass above us. I can feel the heat of them as they go by.

As soon as the shots have passed, we return fire. Jason is already charging for a second shot, when the large weapon is hit by small arms fire. It starts to fizzle and spark. Prentice rapidly drops the gun and runs round the corner of the building. We drop back to the ground as large bolts of lightning arc from the damaged BFG. A second later, it explodes in a large fireball.

“The BFGs always have been awesome but impractical,” my uncle says. “They take too long to charge and fire, and have a tendency to explode when damaged.”

We cautiously crawl forward, keeping low in case we are attacked again. Once we have closed the distance to about half, Baxter gets up and sprints to the corner of the building. He leans round the corner, using the building as cover.

“It’s safe,” he calls.

We sprint to join him. Instead of trying to follow Jason, who has now disappeared round the other side of the building, we go the other direction to an airlock nearby.

We enter a garage underneath the main monorail terminal, where various maintenance vehicles are stored, the dim emergency lighting giving everything an eerie appearance. We creep through the now deserted spaceport, climbing the stairs up to the station level, and the security checkpoint through which everyone arrives and departs.

The computer systems have shut down from the lack of power. There are three sources of power available. The power from the Mars colony, which was severed when the train crashed and tore down the tracks and overhead cables, the backup generator that has just been destroyed, or the battery backups. With the first two options out of commission the port is running on battery backup, and the charge left is minimal.

We pick up some ammunition and proceed to the where the remaining shuttle is docked. The base is silent, and there is no sign of Jason, which is worrying. We dart between pieces of cover, leaning round corners checking the coast is clear before progressing to the next available defensible position.

We make it to the airlock for the shuttle without contact. Uncle Tobias attempts to raise the shuttle pilot via his communicator, but he doesn’t respond. Instead, Jason does. “If you want to see Calhoun carry on living, you will put your weapons down, and enter the shuttle unarmed. Then we will all fly out of here, unhindered by your friends in orbit.”

“Where exactly do you plan flying to?” my uncle enquires. “That shuttle isn’t designed for interplanetary travel, and why would we willingly give you more hostages than you already have. On that note, how do we know Barney isn’t dead already?”

We patiently wait for a response. After a short pause the hostage’s voice comes over the radio, “I’m alive. I’m tied up in the passenger compartment.”

“Did you manage to complete the repairs, or is this whole situation pointless anyway?” the deputy director asks.

“The shuttle is flyable,” Barney replies. “I had just finished reassembling the flight computer when I was jumped, a simple reboot should do the trick.”

My uncle looks puzzled for a couple of seconds before a smile crosses his lips. He removes his helmet and signals us to do the same so that we can talk without using the radios.

“We were grounded by an oxygen pump failure,” he explains, “There’s nothing wrong with the computer systems. I think he’s lying. In which case, they won’t be able to go far without running out of life support.”

He switches his radio back on and speaks to Prentice, “We are not coming on board. You are welcome to leave without us and take your chances with Stanley. Of course, you can opt to kill Calhoun, but if you do so then we will have no reason not to simply blow you to pieces. However, if you surrender, we promise not to kill you, and you will be taken back to earth for a full and proper hearing.”

We turn and start to walk back to the departure lounge. As we do so, an alarm sounds and the airtight doors begin to seal. We run through the lounge and up into the flight control tower. As we reach the windows, the gangway to the shuttle finishes retracting and we watch as the craft begins to taxi to the runway. It accelerates rapidly and leaves the ground, going into a steep climb into the sky. As it ascends, the navigation lights disappear, making it hard to see. Our radios begin to hiss.

“He’s jamming our communications so that we can’t contact Stanley,” Baxter states.

“Don’t worry,” my uncle replies. “Without the correct passphrase, Stanley will blow him up. Barney won’t give him the correct code. He will give the alternative code to signify that he’s a hostage. As soon as they realise what is going on, they will take control of the shuttle remotely and end this. All we have to do is wait.”

We don’t have to wait for long, as a second shuttle taxis up to the terminal, parking near the building. We put our helmets back on and head outside. While there was enough power to withdraw the gangway, there isn’t enough power to reconnect.

The door of the shuttle opens, and a figure waves at us. Uncle Tobias gives the thumbs up signal to denote that he trusts the pilot. We are deliberately maintaining radio silence. We pull a mobile ladder across and enter the shuttle.

Once inside we remove our helmets and take seats as we start to taxi down the runway for a takeoff run.

“We’ve been monitoring your transmissions,” the pilot, Jackson, states. “We landed a few minutes ago, and have been relaying your transmission to the Potemkin. We know about the hostage situation.”

We leave the ground and start to climb, following the flight path of Jason’s craft. The Potemkin is nowhere to be seen as we reach orbit. A buzzer starts sounding in the cockpit. The pilot changes direction.

“It looks like Calhoun has just exited the shuttle via an airlock,” Jackson states. “That sound is an emergency beacon detection warning. I’ve plotted an intercept and we’ll pick him up in a minute.”

Baxter assists enters the airlock, then opens the outside hatch. We slowly approach the floating spacesuit. Calhoun waves to us as we approach. Baxter launches himself into space on a line, grabbing the other person and pulling them back into the craft. We welcome the pair back inside the ship.

“Prentice agreed to let me go if Stanley let him escape,” Calhoun explains. “The Potemkin has just headed round the far side of the planet on Jason’s request. She will be back in a few minutes.”

“You said you fixed the computer systems, was that a coded message that you sabotaged them?” I ask.

“Tobias told you about the life support problem,” he replies. “I wasn’t able to fix the problem, other than to turn off life support and collect some spare oxygen bottles. My fixing of the computer was to disable all the warnings so the software would let us take off. I figured our spacesuits would keep us going long enough to reach Potemkin without issue. Prentice took his helmet off as soon as he launched. Give him a few hours on his trip back to earth, and he’ll be passed out due to carbon monoxide poisoning. He’s doomed to fail.”

Epilogue

I sip the glass of fresh orange juice as I watch the sun set over the small pacific island. My husband is swimming nearby. Umbrella corp. had already bought the paradise retreat as an incentive for their star employee. When their part in the conspiracy was exposed, most of the leading executives found themselves in jail. UAC bought out the company and stripped its assets to pay compensation to the families who lost members in the disaster. They decided to keep and use the island for their own purposes. It is now available as a free holiday destination for anybody stationed on Mars, to give them incentive to work in the remote desolate outpost. My uncle is leading the effort to rebuild the facilities.

I’m now employed as the manager of the island complex. It’s a guaranteed lifetime post as reward for my actions in saving the remaining members of the colony. Dr Cross’s nanites were eventually able to eradicate Prentice’s menace, removing the infection and allowing us all to return to earth. Without the research we were able to recover, they would have had to remain in space in quarantine until they eventually mutated and died.

Prentice was found dead, drifting in space some months later. As predicted, he had suffocated.

The nanites inside of me were severely depleted by the electric shock. Once they were able to replicate themselves in sufficient numbers, they were able to reactivate the suit, allowing it to be removed, and repair my injuries. In the process, all the scarring on my face disappeared and the extra large nose Dr Cross gave me was resized to my original specifications. I kept most of the other enhancements that were added without my consent, but at least I now look like I wanted.

I rub my enlarged stomach. My first child is due in a matter of weeks. If it’s a boy, we will call it John, in memory of Lance Corporal Bates. However, if it is a little girl, then she may well be called Cranberry after another of the people who rescued me from certain doom. As for the third, well I’m now going by the name of Phoebe Baxter.