Death Sentences (31 page)

Of course, they were not as large in actual numbers as the Martian Federal Army. But in actual skill, they far surpassed it.

On a planet that had not officially established any national armies, the actual role of the army was somewhat unclear. There were some obvious limits to enforcement. If they intervened into labor disputes unilaterally, they not only met with resistance from Martian citizens but also were subject to criticism from Earth.

Still, the riots and insurrections couldn't be left alone. Ultimately, even the disputes of a single organization could have fatal repercussions for society as a whole.

That was when headquarters received a request for mobilizing the Martian Guard. Their clients were primarily private enterprises, but demands for the Martian Guard rather than the Federal Army also came from local and provincial governments.

The Martian Guard bore the brunt of any criticism. But then the Martian Guard was largely deaf to any criticism.

Earth was still brimming with people to be sent off to Mars. And given the severe conditions of life on Mars, there was always a demand for fresh young labor.

Ultimately, the raison d'etre of the Martian Guard lay in maintaining this felicitous relation between supply and demand, and, if possible, enhancing it. In a word, it was a matter of population adjustment through extermination.

With the tacit approval of this principle, the ranks of the Martian Guard were swelling.

Naturally, there were voices strongly opposing this rampant militarization.

But in fact, insofar as Mars was perceived as a world for Earth's human detritus, armed forces were deemed "inevitable," their interventions simply had to be "justified."

Thus the squad under Schmitt's command saw a lot of action. They went wherever ordered and conducted whatever interventions were ordered.

In most instances the orders were simple and direct.

Immediately eliminate anyone who resists or who shows signs of resistance.

Needless to say, to eliminate someone meant to wipe them off the face of the planet.

This time, however, the guidelines were somewhat different from what they were usually.

The client was an organization they had never heard of, called Earth Alliance for the Prevention of Epidemics.

And that wasn't all. The Alliance had conducted an orientation session for the troops, to explain the special conditions.

Instructions were presented in excruciating detail.

Rookies were excluded from this operation; only very experienced soldiers were included.

Above all, the mission assigned to them by this client was unusually rigorous and physically demanding.

"The Mars environment is harsh. We realize that it can prove intolerable-"

The representative for the Alliance had begun the briefing on this note.

"That is why we generally turn a blind eye to the use of certain intoxicants and hallucinogens to some extent. In fact, in some cases, we're even in favor of them."

There was a burst of laughter from the troops.

"Exactly. I expect that many of you have no particular problem with this situation either. But-"

The man paused and looked slowly around the room before continuing.

"This situation is entirely different. I want you to be fully aware of how very different the situation is from anything before. Now-"

The locks on his briefcase snapped loudly as he opened it.

And then, as gingerly as if handling explosives, he pulled out a small booklet with a worn and faded cover.

"I believe you've all heard of a settlement by the name of Camp Golgi. It is an agricultural cooperative of about thirty thousand settlers located on the south slope of the highest peak on Mars, Nix Olympica. A very dangerous habit has become widespread there, not related to a specific drug or narcotic agent, but something that produces narcotic and addictive symptoms. To repeat, it is fundamentally different from the usual narcotic or hallucinatory substances. It constitutes a threat unlike anything we've ever seen. And not just for the inhabitants of Golgi but for all the people of Mars, and even those of Earth, it poses the gravest of dangers. And this hereis it."

He waved aloft the booklet that he'd taken from the briefcase.

"For almost two years it escaped our notice. The Martian government is largely responsible for that. But we were clearly careless as well. And so, we were looking in the wrong place for the causes of the sudden decline in productivity at Golgi. The signs were already all there, clear enough. But we thought it nothing more than a harmless and inconsequential trend, merely self-indulgent and somewhat peculiar. The truth is ... the habit of reading the poem had begun in Golgi some two years previously."

The man's face twisted in disgust.

"This is it. This is the original. There are copies of it everywhere. They come in so many formats that you can't always pick them out. This is it, though. I want you to remember the color, shape, and title of this booklet. Under no conditions, however, are you to read it. Do I make myself clear? Within the Federation, anyone who so much as looks at the contents, whether in the original or a reproduction, will be considered guilty of an act of treason. No doubt my discussion has also stimulated your curiosity. But not only is reading it an act punishable by death: it can only bring you profound unhappiness. I hope that I am getting that much through to you."

With a gesture of resolute determination, the man held the book even higher.

The cover bore these words: Manifestos of Surrealism tooth Anniversary Edition: Unknown Luminaries II. Translated by Leonore Buiiuel. 2124. University of Utah Press.

"Buiiuel, the scholar whose name is written here, edited this booklet. While working through the posthumous texts left behind by artists of the previous century, he gathered the works of unknown poets, translated them into English, and published a series of five booklets, with purely academic intentions. But! Who would want to read it? Huh? Exactly. No one read it. On Earth, at least, it was thrown away, buried like rubbish, and except for the University of Utah Library, not a copy remained. Still, somebody brought it to Mars. Just like that-! Now it turns out that people can't wait to get their hands on it."

His tone of voice was severe.

But the reasons for such severity were lost on Schmitt and company.

What was so dangerous about it? Thoughts jotted in a book? Philosophy? Or maybe religious teachings?

Schmitt recalled a thinker who had referred to religion as a drug.

Was it that sort of thing? Yet on Mars, where anyone could get their hands on drugs, religion wasn't much of a draw. There were of course those who believed. But very few were serious about it. It was unimaginable for an entire settlement to go for it.

"I am not in a position to tell you what is actually written in here. I don't know myself. To know means that you've already fallen into the trap set by words as powerful as any drug. That's why I keep warning you. Don't read so much as a sentence when you're in the Golgi area. There is one thing I can tell you. The author of this damned poem is Who May. The title is `The Gold of Time.' Look out for those words. If you come across them, burn them at once. Of course, it will be more than a mere set of words that you're destroying. That goes without saying-"

Biting his lip, the man placed the booklet on the table.

He had more to say.

"The good news is that Golgi is remote and secluded. It has little contact with other areas. And we're currently looking into those few contacts. This leaves you free to concentrate your forces fully on Golgi. There's still time to contain it. You can take out the area. This is the decision that we've arrived at."

He gazed into space.

"Tomorrow is it. Tomorrow all the inhabitants of Golgi will be utterly wiped off the face of the planet, and with them the malignant spells that have been festering among them. Your historical role is that of rubbing them out like an eraser."

(Spells? Did he say spells?)

Whispers ran through the room, but the man broke them off by raising his voice.

"Not a single page, not a single line can remain. And anyone who knows so much as a word of the poem will be burned alive. The Golgi area is to be swept from the face of Mars without a trace."

6

(It's over ...)

Schmitt raised his hand, commanding his troops to halt.

They did a final round of the perimeter.

He glanced at his watch. They were right on schedule.

Now they had only to return to their assigned rendezvous point.

"All right, everyone, change your tube."

The projectile power of this new assault weapon came from magnetic pulses. It didn't require cartridges. In principle, as long as you fed it bullets, you could keep blasting, for almost forty hours at a stretch.

A single tube held about eight hundred bullets.

They'd all pretty much emptied their tubes in the massacre.

They hadn't met with any real resistance.

The people of Golgi had greeted the death squad with resignation.

It had defied belief.

The bulk of them hadn't even made the effort to run.

Maybe the massacre hadn't been necessary. Their complete lack of energy gave the impression that if they had been left as they were, they would have perished on their own accord.

The troops finally had some inkling of what the epidemics officer had meant by "the gravest of dangers."

Whether it was a spell or not, if such apathy spread to society as a whole, the world would indeed come to an end.

(Who May, was it ... ?)

As Schmitt gave a short blast on his whistle, he recalled the name, his lips mouthing it silently.

Whatever it was, they were still on the battlefield and couldn't let down their guard.

Once the tubes were changed, they checked the charge on the magnetic pulse emitters.

They still had juice. They could wipe out another town or two. And they still had five of the twelve hand missiles that they'd brought.

Schmitt regrouped his freshly reloaded squad.

The massive housing complex that they'd torched collapsed with thunderous sound, sending a fiery bloom of sparks skyward.

"Shall we move out?"

A Mars-born soldier of East Asian descent, Hank Kawasaki, turned to Schmitt, the smile on his lips indefatigable.

"Right you

Schmitt slowly examined the perimeter again.

He still felt uneasy. He couldn't shake the feeling of someone watching them.

It was an intuitive sense honed on the battlefield. His survival depended on that intuition. It wasn't something he could afford to ignore.

"Hank, do me a favor and make one more round. Something doesn't feel right."

"Yes, sir."

Hank snapped to attention, formed a squad with three other soldiers, and soon disappeared behind the blazing fires of the town.

Hanson, Coolidge, and Guan remained behind.

Ten minutes went by. Hank hadn't returned.

Another five minutes passed. And another five-

"Commander-"

Coolidge sounded uneasy.

Biting his lip, Schmitt kept his eyes glued on the site where Hank and the others had vanished.

It was very strange.

He had asked them to make one round. It shouldn't have taken this long.

What had they found-? Or had something else ...

There was a thunderous explosion.

Startled, they dropped to the ground, weapons aimed toward the explosion. They saw white ribbons of smoke swirling into the sky. The last of the housing complex had burned away to the point where it finally collapsed of its own weight. That's all it had been. That was all.

"Commander, permission to reconnoiter."

Guan was poised as if to leap into action, but Schmitt stopped him cold.

"Nothing doing! We stay together. We move as a group. Stand down!"

It was the basic rule of war. If they scattered, they were easier to take out one by one. Schmitt now regretted that he had unwittingly broken the rule by sending Hank and the others on patrol. Still, it was really hard to believe that there was anyone left out there who presented a threat to them. But in any event ...

Something was-not right.

They were being watched by someone-he was more and more convinced of it. He couldn't tell from what direction, however. He had the impression of being watched from very close range.

Schmitt shifted his grip on the assault weapon and once again scrutinized their surroundings. But, as far as he could see at least, the four of them were the only humans alive. Other than within the fire itself, there was no place else for anyone to conceal themselves.

"All right. Let's move out. And stick together."

Use of the wireless was restricted to emergencies. Using it for no good reason was cause for an official write-up. A writeup meant embarrassment. It would be seen as a problem with the team.

The four slowly began their advance as a unit. The scattered piles of corpses slowed their progress, as they had to step over them. On either side, flames still leapt skyward from the remains of the housing complex. It was too hot to approach. They had to keep to the middle of the road.