Republic of Mars

Republic of Mars officially established: "This marks humanity’s next chapter, a chance to thrive and prosper away from Earth's limitations,” states President Edward Moss. —Martian Official Broadcast, August 10, 2058 Detective Peter Dash squinted against the harsh LED lights as he and his partner, Officer Farah Ram, stepped off the maglev train, Port Hope’s and, by extension the Republic of Mars’, main mode of mass transport. The maglev was practically a living beast, a beast that never slept, endlessly moving people and products round and round, and back and forth, under the red planet 24/7. After twenty minutes in the dark tunnels, Dash found the contrasting glare jarring. He took a deep breath, but the recycled air smelled as sterile as ever. “Home sweet home,” he muttered, his feet hitting the polycrete floor that paved the underground city. Ram grinned, her green eyes bright with enthusiasm. “Come on, it’s not so bad. At least Earthly Delites was offering real beef tacos on the menu today.” Dash raised an eyebrow. “That stuff was neither real nor beef.” The so-called beef was produced in a factory using some magic involving nutritional yeast. Ram laughed, her curly hair bouncing as they walked. “You gotta look on the bright side once in a while, boss.” Dash grunted in reply. What he’d really like to do is to see the outside. But that was beyond the realm of possibility. He could almost feel the tons of Martian rock above him, entombing them all in this underground cage. He glanced upward, not for the first time, wondering what open sky looked like, albeit a Martian one. Ram said he was a pessimist, but he liked to think of himself as a realist. Thousands of men, women, and children were confined forever to one subterranean settlement, and no one was allowed to leave—it didn’t take a detective to see the cracks in that shining utopia. He pushed his dark hair off his forehead as he scanned the crowds. Hundreds of people streamed by, most dressed in the same gray jumpsuits provided by the Republic. ID chips glittered on their lapels as security cameras tracked their every move. Dash felt the weight of his service pistol on his hip, its presence reassuring despite the heavy security. Or perhaps because of it. Most people kept their eyes down, intent on their work or errands. Anything to keep from standing out. But he noticed a few sideways glances at his uniform, a mix of curiosity and apprehension. Being a Republic detective set him apart, even as it tied him to the system. A double-edged sword. They mindlessly followed the narrow, artificially lit corridors of Port Hope, corridors Dash had walked a thousand times or more, on their way back from lunch break. Port Hope was the Republic’s sole city, although some unofficial settlements existed on the fringes of the colony. And he occasionally heard talk of the Republic chartering new cities someday. Their conversation echoed off the sterile metal walls that enclosed the entire underground city like a straitjacket. “Seriously, Peter,” Farah said, wiping tears from her eyes, “I can’t believe you actually convinced the guy he had to wear a tin foil hat to protect his thoughts from being intercepted by the government!” “Hey, it was only after he accused me of being a Venusian in disguise,” Dash replied, grinning mischievously. His dark hair framed his handsome face, blue eyes shining with mirth. At 35 years old, and with nine years of experience with the Republic of Mars Police Department, he had developed a keen sense of humor to cope with the mundane cases he regularly encountered in this tightly controlled society. “Besides, you saw him,” Dash said, turning serious. “He was high on something.” Getting high was becoming a real problem in their tiny encapsulated world. Being cut off from the outside universe was affecting people deeply, and not in a good way. Drugs were becoming a way of life. A way to cope with their claustrophobic and surreal reality. They passed by rows of identical gray doors leading to living quarters, each adorned with a small screen displaying the occupant’s name and occupation. The lack of windows or any other form of natural light made the atmosphere perpetually claustrophobic. The entire city was a carefully engineered environment, with air filtration systems humming constantly in the background, providing a faint but ever-present white noise soundtrack to their lives. “Can you imagine what Earth must have been like?” Farah asked wistfully. “Wide open spaces, fresh air, actual sunlight...” “Might be nice,” considered Dash. “But I’ve read there were a lot of bugs on Earth. And not just the electronic kind.” Insects were unheard of here, and while that might have seemed like a good thing, he found the absence of other life unnatural. “True,” she conceded. “Still, it’d be nice to at least see a real tree once, with its fat roots buried in the earth. Don’t you think? Stand under its shade. Listen to the leaves shake, watch them change color with the seasons.” “Yeah.” There were no seasons on Mars, not underground anyway, and that’s where what was left of humanity was stuck, living in a subterranean city on a planet far from Earth. “It’d be something, wouldn’t it?” The pair reached the entrance to the police station, where they were greeted by an emotionless droid that scanned their ID chips with a quick flash of light. The doors slid open, allowing them to enter the bustling nerve center of Port Hope’s law enforcement. “Welcome back, Detective Dash, Officer Ram,” Ada, the AI receptionist, chimed as they passed by. Ada was an older plug-in electric model, not like the newer self-repowering droids that were all the rage. She even lacked self-powered mobility. Ada just sat there blankly day after day on her artificial butt. The police department’s budget was tight. The latest and greatest was not to be. “I trust you enjoyed your lunch?” “Delightful as always, Ada,” Dash replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes at the thought of another meal composed of tasteless nutritional yeast filled with vitamin supplements. Whispers spoke of other things in those food products, too—drugs meant to keep the population, if not happy, content, malleable. But the drugs didn’t seem to be working like they once did. People were growing restless. “You really must try the new chocolate mocha algae-based pudding sometime.” “Thank you for the recommendation, but as I do not possess a digestive system, I am unable to enjoy sweets,” Ada responded in her synthetic voice, devoid of any detectable emotion. “Trust me.” Dash winked at Farah. “There’s nothing enjoyable about it.” “Don’t listen to him, Ada,” Farah interjected. “Peter’s in one of his moods.” “When isn’t he?” Ada replied. “You’re right,” Farah chuckled. “Don’t mind me,” Dash said, waving a dismissive hand at the pair. Moving through the sprawling Republic of Mars Police Department headquarters, they passed several security checkpoints, each one manned by stoic officers who scanned their identification cards with robotic efficiency. The relentless monitoring and control in Port Hope weighed heavily on its citizens, not just in the omnipresent surveillance, but also in the strict societal roles assigned to each individual. There was little room for deviation, and even less for personal freedom. As they continued through the station, Dash glanced at colleagues hunched over their desks, diligently working on various cases. Most of them would involve minor infractions or petty crimes, as the strict societal roles and advanced surveillance systems made it nearly impossible for anything more serious to occur undetected. “Hey, Dash!” called out one of the officers, a middle-aged man with an ever-present scowl etched onto his face. “Did you hear? We’ve got a real whodunit on our hands: someone’s been stealing hydroponic lettuce from the agriculture sector!” “The crime of the century,” Dash deadpanned, eliciting laughs from a few nearby officers. “Think you clowns can handle it?” “Maybe you can get a task force together,” Farah added, joining in on the joke. “You may need to canvas the area, interview witnesses, issue an APB, and stake out every possible exit route.” “Only if we can requisition some actual coffee for the stakeouts,” Dash added with a grin. “None of those synthetic caffeine substitutes they keep trying to pass off as the real thing.” “Deal,” Farah agreed, chuckling as they continued toward their shared cubicle and the two desks shoved face to face, across which they faced each other day in and day out. Settling behind his own desk, Dash couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment at the lack of excitement in their day-to-day work. He had joined the police force with dreams of busting up criminal elements, cracking complex cases, and making a real difference in the lives of Port Hope’s citizens. Instead, he found himself dealing with minor disputes, petty thefts, and paranoid conspiracy theorists—not exactly the stuff of legends. Large monitors displayed various data streams and surveillance feeds from all around Port Hope. The room was small and cramped, much like the rest of the city, but since teaming with him, Farah had personalized their workspace with a few personal touches of her own. A potted plant, carefully nurtured under artificial light, sat on a windowsill that looked out on the city square, while a poster of Earth adorned one wall, showcasing the lush landscapes and open skies that were now only distant memories. He stole a look at his partner of the past three months. Farah Ram was a breath of fresh air in the sterile environment of Port Hope. Her curly, dark hair framed her face, as if trying to contain the boundless energy that seemed to radiate from her being. Her green eyes sparkled with curiosity, and her infectious smile made even the toughest of officers crack a grin. At 28 years old, she had only recently joined the police force, but her enthusiasm and eagerness to learn more than made up for her lack of experience. She was a bright light in the dim world that was Port Hope, and Peter Dash was grateful to have her by his side. “Anything interesting coming up today?” Farah asked hopefully as she swallowed the cold coffee she’d discovered in her mug. Her eyes lit up at the thought of investigating something more exciting than the mundane disputes and thefts that seemed to make up the bulk of their workload. “Let’s see, we’ve got a noise complaint to follow up on, a handful of expired work permits to investigate...” Ram’s face fell slightly before she caught herself. “Oh, um, sounds very important.” “That’s the spirit. Seriously, though,” Dash allowed himself a small chuckle. “Not exactly the glamorous detective work they show in the recruitment vids, is it?” Ram gave a self-conscious shrug. “I just want to prove myself.” “I know, and you will,” Dash said kindly. “But for now, the best thing you can do is pay attention and learn the ropes. Even these little cases can teach you things, if you keep your eyes and ears open.” Ram nodded, but she didn’t appear happy. “Come on,” Dash said. After an hour of sitting on his butt, he was getting restless. He hated desk work. “Let’s get out of here.” “Sure thing.” Farah’s face brightened as she quickly rolled her chair back from her desk and popped to her feet. As they headed out on the streets, Dash made sure to point out the ubiquitous security cameras, the DNA scanners guarding each sector entrance. Ram took it all in with wide eyes. She was still having trouble spotting the eyes of Big Brother. The Republic prided itself on safety and order. But it came at a cost in freedom that left Dash uneasy. “How do people stand being watched all the time?” Ram wondered aloud. “When you control the environment and control the stream of information, people accept limits on themselves,” Dash said grimly. Some two hours later, Dash and Ram made their way back to the station, bantering lightheartedly to pass the time. As they entered the bustling main room, Dash nodded in greeting to some of the other officers and techs milling about. Officers Kane and Kowalski turned and eyed Dash and Ram. Kane flashed a crooked smile. “How are you holding up, Ram?” “Good.” “Yeah, try not to let Dash get under your skin. He can have that effect on people. Just ask his ex-wife.” Ram forced a laugh. “I’ll do my best, sir.” Dash rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “All right, all right. Stop playing with the rookie. She’s not a toy. Besides, we’ve got a briefing to get to.” He guided Ram away from the others and toward their boss’s office in the back. As they entered the sparsely decorated room, a bald man with a severe face looked up from a monitor. “Captain Sagan,” Dash greeted with a respectful nod. The captain’s eyes flicked to Ram. “Dash, Ram, how are you two getting on?” His voice was pure gravel, but Dash knew from personal experience that a real soft heart lurked inside. “Haven’t strangled each other yet, sir,” Dash replied. “And I’m learning a lot,” Farah Ram added. “Peter’s a good teacher.” “Is he now? I hope he’s teaching you more good than bad,” Sagan scrutinized her a moment longer before turning his attention back to Dash. “I have a new assignment for you. A man named Owen Cornell has gone missing. His wife reported him absent from their residence for over thirty-six hours.” Dash raised an eyebrow, intrigued. Missing persons cases were rare. “Interesting,” said Ram. “Maybe,” Dash replied, keeping his tone neutral. He didn’t want to get her hopes up, especially considering the disappointing nature of most cases lately. “Don’t get too excited—it’s probably just another domestic dispute or something equally depressing.” The detective had been married once. His former partner is now remarried. “Yes, but—” Sagan cut them off. “Before either of you gets any fanciful ideas, I’m sure it’s just a routine investigation. Find out where he is and close this case quickly.” “Yes, sir,” Dash said, not hiding his disappointment. By routine, Capt. Sagan was suggesting this was nothing more than a marital problem, marital infidelity being the most likely case, just as he’d first suspected. “I’m transmitting the case to you.” Capt. Sagan’s fingers tapped slowly on his keyboard. Satisfied, he hit the send key. The captain dismissed them and Dash led Ram back to their cubicle, where his other partner, the AI drone he’d named Marko, sat powered down on a stand in the corner. Dash tapped the drone’s alloy casing. “Rise and shine, Marko. We’ve got a new case,” Dash said. Marko was a highly intelligent AI drone and the third member of their team. The resident AI genius had been assisting Dash in his investigations for the past three years. Equipped with cutting-edge technology and an encyclopedic knowledge of criminal science and forensics, Marko had become an invaluable asset to the Republic of Mars Police Department. “I never sleep,” Marko said aloud for Officer Ram’s benefit. “Perhaps you forgot because your organic brain is inferior to my state-of-the-art neural processors and wetware,” Marko added in, his voice emanating from a barely visible speaker embedded in his outer shell. Though Marko primarily communicated with Dash via a brain implant, he was also capable of speaking aloud when the situation called for it or he simply had a mind to. “Ouch, Marko,” Dash feigned hurt, placing a hand over his heart. “You wound me.” “Apologies, Detective Dash,” Marko replied dryly. “I sometimes forget how thin-skinned you humans can be.” “Alright then, Marko.” Dash cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair. He folded his arms across his chest. “Mister Owen Cornell, MIA. What have you got?” “Based on a preliminary analysis of the information contained within the digital file provided by Captain Sagan and my own Xi resources, it appears that Mister Cornell was last seen leaving his place of employment two days ago at approximately eighteen hundred hours,” Marko reported, hovering closer to Dash’s desk. Xi was the name for what the old Internet had evolved into here on Mars, a true web of all things…and people. Marko continued. “His wife indicated that he had recently been experiencing elevated levels of stress due to work-related pressures but expressed doubt that this would have caused him to abandon his daily routine without explanation.”