The Mars Shock by Felix R. Savage Page A

during the Mercury Rebellion,” Murray said. “We found some wild stuff out there. Genetically engineered carpets. An elite corporate class of clones. Like you said, if we don’t want to become the PLAN lite, we have to watch out for that shit.”
    Kristiansen settled himself more comfortably against the rock. He linked his hands behind his head and gazed into the Martian night. “How bad would it be? If we found out how the nanites work, and how the Chinese virus sabotages them. If we learned how to do quantum-entangled comms, and how to stealth our spaceships like the PLAN did. Would it really have a disastrous impact on the economy?”
    “Number one, we’ve already got a handle on the stealth thing,” Murray answered. “Turns out some sleb in the asteroid belt has been trying to patent the self-same technology for years. Star Force is all over that now. That’s what I mean about having some of the pieces but not knowing it. Number two, the rest of that shit is small. Quantum-entangled comms? We know how to do that already, it’s just too hard to entangle the particles in the first place. The PLAN probably uses a biological solution that we’d consider unethical, hence useless. No, we’re looking for something bigger.”
    Here it was. “What?”
    “Why.”
    “Huh?”
    “Why? Why did the PLAN try to fundamentally transform humanity in the first place?”
    Disappointed, Kristiansen said, “Because we’re here, I guess.” Knowing this had been a glib, meaningless answer, he transferred his attention to his suit. With the chest flap of his outer garment open, he studied the readout on his nutrient cycling unit. He had 800 ccs of gorp in reserve, which would provide him with 4,400 calories of energy. He’d probably burned through more than that today. But you could go without food for a while. Water, or rather the lack of it, was the killer. If he couldn’t refill his reserves, he was stuck with what he had now. 1.7 liters, plus whatever his suit could recover from his urine by reverse osmosis.
    “I mean, why?” Murray said. His voice was loud and harsh. “I want some fucking answers, you know? Why have I got to die?”
    Surprised and alarmed, Kristiansen said, “We’re not dead yet.”
    “Not yet.” Murray sighed. “Get some sleep. I’ll take the first watch.”
    Sleep? On Mars? With hostile Martians potentially sneaking up on them? Impossible, Kristiansen thought. But as soon as he arranged himself in a more-or-less comfortable position on the ground, his eyes closed.
    And opened again, what felt like a few seconds later. He lay still, trying to figure out what had woken him.
    Something brushed against his arm.
    He switched on his helmet lamp.
    There stood Murray.
    Kristiansen froze.
    Murray was holding a refill pouch of water.
    “What are you doing?” Kristiansen said.
    Murray shrugged. He let the pouch of water fall. The chest flap of his outer garment hung open.
    Kristiansen stood up. His boot crunched on something. A refill pack of gorp. Crumpled. Empty.
    “Murray, did you refill your reserves?” While I was asleep, so I wouldn’t know? “Are you crazy? We decided it was too much of a risk!”
    “I’m not risking anything,” Murray said. He pulled at the shoulder of his outer garmet. Stuck two fingers through a hole that had been concealed by the fold at the collar seal. “Look at this.”
    Kristiansen aimed his helmet lamp at the hole. The inner garment of Murray’s suit—the actual suit, the one that protected him—had a dark spot on the shoulder, a sign that the suit had patched itself.
    Murray twisted, showing him another patch on the back of his shoulder. “Exit wound.”
    “So that’s why you were grumbling about carrying the supplies,” Kristiansen said, stupidly. “You should have told me.” Then it sank in. “Your suit was breached.”
    “That’s right, genius.”
    “Oh … no.”
    Murray picked up the pouch of water he’d dropped and plugged it into his