I decided I didn't want Ottenson to be revealed as totally evil just yet. I wrote the following as an alternate version of events, and I'll have his social darwinism experiment happen later in the story. I saved the parts I wrote, as I'll just rework them into the story later. So starting from Captain Watson's log, here's what I have presently in place of Ottenson's big speech ,etc.:
Captain Watson — expedition log
I don't know what's going on around here, but it's big, and it's going to mean something awful for all of us. The technical advisor to our expedition informs me that “something bad” is going to happen tonight, and advised me—me, his superior in command—to turn around, abandon my post, abandon this expedition—abandon everything and retreat to Ascraeus Mons!
The same technical advisor informed me—matter-of-fact, like he was telling me that Mars is a desert—that he sabatoged or allowed the sabatoge of our communications devices, which are rusting away right in front of our eyes.
I don't like the way this is going. He advised me not to get our of my vehicle—not likely. I'm going straight to Dr. Ottenson and Dr. Turon about this, and I'm bringing my vehicle with me. I suspect treason and conspiracy. I suspect this has something to do with the nn.
To any who are listening to this, if I don't hand this recording to you, you can bet that I was killed and someone, maybe everyone, in charge of this expedition was involved in my death at the least, and probably large-scale treason.
EXPEDITION—VALLES MARINERIS INTERCOMM PUBLIC ADDRESS SYSTEM
ALL CITIZENS: THIS IS PHILLIP OTTENSON, DIRECTOR OF THE EXPLORATION ADMINISTRATION FOR THIS EXPEDITION. THIS IS AN OFFICIAL MANDATE: ALL CITIZENS ARE TO REMAIN INSIDE THE TRANSPORT, IN THE SHELTERED AREA, UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.
THIS IS AN EMERGENCY ANNOUNCEMENT.
Davis Personal Recording Device
Why did you have to be so brilliant, Ottenson, and then forget to bring your comm unit with you? We're in it, now. How could you possibly hack into the President's personal network, hijack the Ascraeus Mons Herald, convince people you weren;t what you were when the evidence was against you, even break me out and organize this mass exodus … and then forget the comm unit connected to my recording implant?
I'd have suspected him of doing that on purpose, but it wouldn't make sense. Why would he want the government to know it was him and not Lareoux? Why would he tip off the government when he was so close to escape? No, I think it was an accident. I hope it was an accident. That man is so twisty and strange, I'm not sure what to think anymore.
I can see the armored cars surrounding the transport are massing toward the science vessel. I don't know what Ottenson is going to do. I might have known his contingency plan if I'd talked to him recently, yo uknow, if he hadn't left his comm unit on his stupid desk.
Davis Personal Recording Device:
[Officer Filmore]: Isaac Davis … Isaac Davis … know the communications … the communications are dying … I’ll repeat everything … until I get … response from you. Stand down … surrender the … return to Ascraeus Mons … before … consequences.
[Phillip Ottenson]: Hey there, Davis! Can you hear me in there? Yeah, I really messed this one up, I won’t lie. We weren’t supposed to tip our hand until communications died entirely between us and Ascraeus Mons. I’m sorry.
I’m not teribly sorry, however, because things aren’t as lost as they seem. Davis, I’m going to transfer you from the prisoner cell to the cockpit of your mech. Funny thing, mechs—designed for hunting and escort, and they can be piloted or controlled remotely. I’m taking a bit of a gamble with the people—if the military decides to fire on the science vessel, they’ll die. I need to scramble communications and see if I can’t do anything to disable the military vehicles from here. I won’t be able to focus on the mechs—I can only do one thing at a time, you know. Turon doesn’t seem to know who he’s rooting for, but I don’t blame him: I’ve given him no reason to trust me and about a million reasons not to. He’s not going to help us.
It’s up to you. If you can hold off the armored cars long enough for me to scramble them, we can get out of here before reenforcements show up.
[Officer Filmore]: Stand down … will spare your life. Stand down.
[Phillip Ottenson]: It’s on you.
You know what, Filmore? You can just shrivel up in your safe little office for all I care. you should meet my wife sometime, I think you’d get along.
--hours later--
Davis Personal Log
That mech is frightening.
As soon as Ottenson’s voice went dead from my neck, I felt the coils around me first slacken, and then squeeze me till I had no breath inside me. The metal rings around each wire began to turn, all in unison, pushing my whole body in its cuccoon shape upward through darkness and the smell of smoke, until I emerged into a tiny chamber just above where I had been laying for all these days. There was a chair—a bed, more like—with thin wire mesh making up its seat and back. Althugh I had to contort about in the small space, I made my way into the chair and found two control consoles at either hand, and a wide, concave screen before me, which must have coincided with the mech’s top.
As soon as my weight hit, the screen above me flickered to life, and I saw in its black-and-white image all twelve of the armored cars advancing upon the science vessel, leaving behind twelve plumes of dust that almost obscured the rest of my vision. Ottenson’s voice came through my neck,
“Davis, if you’re going to do something, now is the moment.”
I hesitated.
I realized at this exact moment that I had never directly harmed anyone physically. Apart from the odd fight in school and the fistfight I had with Alice’s boyfriend, and of course running when the police came knocking at my door, I’d never done anything so rash before. Despite my having a death sentence for it, I’d never before lifted a finger against the US government.
And then I lurched into action, seizing the consoles. The controls were strange, but I quickly gathered which controlled the pitch and direction, and which controlled movement. After nearly toppling the mech, however, I decided to remain stationary and fire on the tanks from where I was.
I hadn’t ever seen a mech fire on anything before. The weapons were (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pulsed_Energy_Projectile) variations on pulsed energy, such that when I pulled the trigger, a small plasma explosion sank into the sand, sending up a cloud and leaving a glowing, glassy crater. I could see nothing indicating that I had fired except the result. (NOTE: the beam would be visible if a lot of dust were in the air.) I hadn’t seen anything of the sort be used before, only read about them in the university
I opened fire on the nearest armored vehicles, and shivers of electricity rippled over them as they were struck. Angry red dents melted into their hulls, and they began to turn, very sluggishly, toward me. Three more shots rendered them entirely immobile. They sat dead in the sand as the dust began to settle around them, the clouds blowing away in the gathering wind. The others seemed to take no notice, and they began firing upon the science vessel, which crawled as fast as it could away from them.
The first few shots missed, sending up a wall of dust in front of the vessel. Then one found its mark, striking the vehicle’s rear. Smoke poured from the vehicle’s wound, but it continued forward undaunted.
I did my best to cause the mech to lumber forward into closer range, so my sloppy aim wouldn’t jeapardize Ottenson’s life. Again I squeezed the trigger repeatedly in tight succession, praying my aim would be better. After leaving a few more craters on the planet’s surface, I struck a third car, which seemed to convulse as the electronic waves licked it before it, too, became immobile.
A car behind it noticed its comrade’s debilitation, and it reacted much faster than the previous ones. Its pillboxes and main gun whipped around, and began to spew bullets and cannon blasts toward me. I could hardly breathe, and my heart tried to climb out my throat as the shots whizzed passed me. The cannon blast shook the mech’s hull as it passed, causitng my fingers to trip over the controls. I must have hit the leg controls—I gave a small yelp as the machine soared upward on rapidly-extending legs. The mech reached its full heigh, and I lost sight of the action below.
When I brought the pitch down to where I could see the cars again, I realized my mistake may have saved my life. Four cannon shells blazed beneath me, and four cannon barrels thrust upward toward me. The rest of the armored cars were turning to face me also. With shaking hands, I squeezed me trigger and rained PEP blasts at them—dust flew every which way, craters melted, and one or two cars were struck, being enveloped in frantic, forked electric blankets that flared up and as quickly dissipated.
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