The Many Deaths of Joe Buckley

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Authors: Assorted Baen authors, Barflies
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    “A.J.? A.J., Jackie, look! ”
    A white dot showed in the air. As they watched, the dot descended and grew.
    “Parachutes spotted,” crackled from the speakers. “Visual confirmation that it is the ejection pod from Chinook. ”
    Helen and A.J. were already sprinting towards the likely landing area, somewhat to the right as carried by the wind. The emergency vehicles passed them, of course, and by the time they arrived the ejection pod had landed and Bruce and Joe were emerging from it.
    A.J. bulled his way through the EMTs. “Joe! Joe! ”
    Joe grinned, painfully. “I tried to tell them it was a no-smoking flight, but nobody listens to me.”
    * * *
    “We’re still alive. Everyone?”
    “Not everyone.” A.J.’s voice was suddenly utterly devoid of his usual humor. “Shit. I will not be sick in my suit.”
    Helen turned, and was instantly sorry she had. Dr. Ryu Sakai was pinned against the rear of the compartment by something—a support structure of John Carter , probably—that must have torn free in the last terrible impact, impaling or crushing his entire rib cage.
    The tough suit might have maintained some integrity, but there were limits to its protective capabilities. The astrogeological specialist was clearly dead.
    “Jesus . . .” Rich Skibow spoke for the first time since the crash, tearing his way out of his restraining harness. “Oh, this is horrible.”
    It was then that Helen remembered that Joe had been sitting in front of Ryu Sakai. For a moment her heart seemed to stop. But . . . there was only one suit pinned to the wall with that hideous dark smear around it.
    “Joe! Where’s Joe?”
    A.J. answered, obviously glad of something to distract him from the gruesome scene in the rear. “Ummm . . . Look, that beam ripped upward through the cabin. With that angle, it would’ve taken out the support column under Joe’s chair. If we were still moving, he . . .”
    A.J. trailed off. Helen followed his gaze.
    Straight to the hole in the forward window. “Oh, no—”
    She leaped toward the window and tripped. The wreck of the SSTO was leaning on something, inclined at an angle of about forty-five degrees both vertically and laterally. Scrambling in the light gravity, she made it to the hole and looked out.
    John Carter rested atop a massive boulder five times its size. From her vantage point thirty meters above the rest of the terrain, she could make out a small, dark object more than a fifty meters off: Joe’s seat, with a spacesuit still strapped into it.
    “Joe! Joe!”
    The figure moved. Joe raised an arm slowly and waved. Then said, shakily but firmly:
    “By the authority vested in me as a representative of the Ares Project and the first human being to set foot on Mars, I claim all the rights and privileges pertaining thereunto for the Project.”
    “Gah!” said Madeline.
    * * *
    “Hey, look, I’m sorry,” Joe apologized, defensively. “I didn’t know he was dead then.”
    “’S’okay,” Rich grunted. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I’d have found it funny, any other time. I suppose it will be someday.”
    A.J. emitted a harsh little laugh, as he attached another cable to the support beam for their attempt to remove Ryu Sakai’s body. “I will say that Madeline’s face was worth seeing, when you opened up that can of worms.”
    Madeline didn’t quite glare at him. She did glare at Joe. “You have absolutely no idea of the headaches this may cause, if your people insist on it.”
    Joe knew the dialogue focused on his unexpected claiming of Mars because none of them wanted to really think about the gruesome task ahead of them. He was still stuck in his seat, looking at John Carter ’s red-dusted, ominous, shattered-looking hulk from fifty meters away. He had discovered upon attempting to get up that his leg was apparently broken, and Madeline had insisted he stay there until someone could get out and examine it.
    The advice had become more serious when A.J.’s

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