Free The Empress of Mars by Kage Baker Page A

the next flight.”
    “Are you?” Mary halted in the act of raising the cup to her lips. She set it down. “And where are you getting the money for that, pray?”
    Cochevelou winced.
    “An unexpected inheritance?” he suggested, and dodged the cup that came flying at him.
    “You hound!” Mary cried. “They’ll have an unexpected inheritance sewn into their suits, won’t they? Won’t they, you black beast?”
    “If you’d only be mine, all this wouldn’t matter,” said Cochevelou wretchedly, crawling from the booth and making for the airlock with as much dignity as he could muster. Chiring ran after him, keeping the camera focused on his retreat. “We could rule Mars together, you know that, don’t you?”
    Cochevelou didn’t wait for an answer, but pulled his mask on and was flying for the airlock when it opened before him and three Haulers stepped through.
    They weren’t as massive nor as red as the Brick; two had dreadlocked hair and beards framing their masks, and the woman’s hair was in dreads too. Their psuits seemed sculpted to their bodies, glued on by countless hours and miles on the High Road. They pulled off their masks and stood gulping in air, distance-blind, blinking in the close dim space before they spotted the Brick. One of them staggered forward.
    “There’s a navvy lost,” he said. Cochevelou halted in his tracks. Every head turned. Chiring swung his camera around.
    “Who’s lost?” demanded the Brick, getting to his feet.
    “The boy on the South Pole Line,” said the Hauler. “He was supposed to have been back at Nav Station three days ago. There was this storm out in Amazonia.”
    “Crap.” The Brick pulled on his gauntlets.
    “We’ve got four Jinmas we can send,” said Cochevelou. “I’ll bring ’em up to Nav Station in an hour.”
    “Thanks, mate.”
    “Chiring! Mr. Morton!” Mary swung around. “Pack up four tanks of the porter. You!” She stepped to the door of the kitchen and shouted in at the Heretic. “Start a fry-up. Anything we’ve got to spare, so it’s packed up for takeaway. Alice, run down and tell Manco we need the quaddy
now
.”
    But Alice had backed into a booth and was staring at them all, green-faced. “Who is it?” she asked. “
Who’s
the boy on the Line?”
    One of the Haulers opened his mouth to reply, but the Brick cut in: “Could be one of about six guys out there.” He glanced at Mary and murmured, “Maybe you’d better come.”
    “What’s going on?” asked Mr. De Wit.
    “People go missing sometimes,” said Mary distractedly. “We have to go out and find them. Will you do me a favor, Mr. De Wit, and sit with Alice a little while? Just sort of keep her chatting while we’re busy?”
    “I’ll go for the quaddy,” said Rowan, pulling on her mask as she sprinted past them. Mary turned away from the rage building in Alice’s face, and let the Brick lead her away out through the lock.

 
     
     
     

CHAPTER 8
Men
     
     
    It was a long trudge out the Tube to the Ice Hauler depot, and long before they got there the temperature had dropped far enough to make Mary shiver. The vizio here was so old it had opaqued like smoke, blocking what little warmth the sun bestowed. Grit crunched under her boots. Beside her the Brick strode along in grim silence, though if he had wanted to chat she’d have found it hard to hear him except at maximum volume: the Tube was full of the roar and hiss of the wind, and the noise of engines echoing back from the depot as the Haulers scrambled.
No wonder the boys want their comforts when they come in
, thought Mary.
    When they finally stepped through into the vast dome, the depot was nearly deserted. The Brick’s rig loomed like a sleeping dinosaur, its ball tires taller than Mary, its tank scoured to a dull and gleaming silver by sand storms. The hatch sprang open as they neared it. The Brick bent and made a stirrup of his hands for Mary, hoisting her up into the cab. She scrambled awkwardly