The God Mars Book Two: Lost Worlds (12 page)

“They won’t know us,” I accept. “Except as legendary
monsters.”

“And you won’t know them,” Paul returns.

I flash on the “CROATOAN” we found carved into the
wall at the abandoned Melas Three. A lost colony possibly gone
native to the point of becoming totally alien...

“More dangerous by far,” Mark continues his paternal
warning, “is that Tranquility represents an extremely
localized
group—they do not appear to stray far beyond their
dome—these other groups range freely throughout the green zone, and
defend it absolutely.”

“So do the Nomads in Melas,” Rios tries.

“The Nomads are limited by the environment,” Sakina
corrects him.

“The Vajra will be like the inside of the Tranquility
dome,” I agree, “only it’s hundreds of square miles.”

“Thousands,” Paul corrects my math.

We upload the model specs onto our Links for feed
back to Earthside, then Paul invites us to stay for lunch. No
sooner do we agree and walk away from the display that Paul has his
Sphere in hand. My Link goes dead.

“Now that we have put on our performance, I was
hoping we could speak candidly about more pressing issues,” Mark
presents calmly.

“Blame the interference on moving through the
Station,” Paul suggests. I give Rios a nod to reassure him we
aren’t in any danger, and he nods back to let me know he’s game to
pretend this conversation isn’t taking place. Tru gives me a
similar nod.

“Do I want to know what happened to your face?” I ask
Paul directly, talking as we walk to the lunch promised as an
excuse for our delay.

“You need to know that we will not interfere on your
behalf in the green zones,” he tells me intently.

“The Grand Experiment,” I try agreeing.

“Those people are truly free,” Tru corrects me. Paul
nods.

“Earthside isn’t likely to ignore them, despite your
presentation today,” I warn.

“We are hoping they learn their lessons in Melas well
enough before deciding to proceed eastward into Coprates,” Mark
puts it officiously.

“They haven’t yet,” I remind him.

“Which is why we give you this little meeting,” Paul
offers.

“Do you think they will order you back to
Tranquility?” Mark asks.

“That lesson may be learned, at least for the near
future, but I expect we’ll need to bleed quite a bit more before
they agree to keep their hands off your little garden, if
ever.”

“Will you defy your orders?” Mark gets to the point.
We have stopped at an elevator, so I can face him directly.

“The UNMAC I agreed to serve is fifty years gone,” I
tell him. “I don’t know this UNMAC, or even this Earth. But I will
do my job because it may bring my people relief, and because Earth
is coming one way or another. We’ve had this discussion.”

“We had the discussion before Earth called and
started ordering your people into harm’s way,” Mark counters
calmly. “They also ordered you not to work with us. Would you defy
that order?”

“Orders that general are open to interpretation,” I
tell him, glancing at Rios to make sure he’s still on page. Rios
grins at me. “What is it you’re asking?”

The elevator takes us to the bright sterile whiteness
of the research hive.

“Let’s say we have dire need of your people skills,”
Paul offers when his father doesn’t answer immediately.

“I know a lot of people who would find that very
funny,” I tell him. Tru smiles. Rios bites his lip and stares at
his boots.

We walk to one of their immaculate dining halls,
where a veritable feast has been laid out for us. I wonder idly how
much of the banquet is for the benefit of the viewers at home.

Before we sit, Mark brings up a tactical map of Melas
Chasma over the table.

“The Zodangans and the PK have made multiple attempts
against your Candor Link in the last few months,” Mark lets us
know. “We have been good to our word in protecting your men and
equipment, but we have had to deal with these factions up close.
Our hope was that a show of power would be proactive, and that they
would concede to cooperation. Instead, their response was more akin
to our experience with the Shinkyo.”

He shows us snippets of video: Guardians under fire,
weathering bombardment by grenades and rockets, ambushes, aircraft
battered by missiles and swarms of pirate flyers. Weaponized ETE
Spheres and Rods knocking away enemies, pushing dust storms over
resisting fighters. And most discouraging, a shot of a section of
the Industry “ruin” collapsing in the midst of a firefight.

“It would have been much worse if you had been forced
to deal with them,” Paul tries.

“Fatalities?” I ask.

“Unknown,” Mark admits. “Our defensive measures
damaged some of their structures. Some of their fighters likely
succumbed to the environment if their gear was damaged, especially
during the skirmishes beyond the atmosphere net. They have been
consistent about recovering their casualties, so we have seen no
confirmed dead.”

“Either not wanting you to know how badly you hurt
them or afraid of what you might do with their bodies,” Sakina
considers aloud.

“You have been effective in interceding in talks with
other factions,” Mark pushes forward.

“Not so much,” I return, counting the Shinkyo, the PK
and Zodanga as failures in this area.

“They will at least
speak
to you,” Paul tries.
“They treat us like horrors.”

“And you’re thinking you’re now scarier than
Earthside agents?” I ask.

“Their benevolent Jinn have suddenly gone Old
Testament on them,” Tru considers.

“The lesser of two evils doesn’t necessarily make a
good cornerstone for diplomacy,” I criticize.

“Will you help?” Paul presses like he didn’t hear
me.

I smile at him.

“Buy me lunch. I’ll see if I’ve got some free time in
my schedule.”

Paul smiles and nods, then works his Sphere to give
us back our communications.

“Sorry for all the interference,” he offers
innocently, playing his role. “We have dead zones throughout the
facility. It looks like lunch is ready…”

4 April, 2116:

I watch the sand dance in small swirling devils
(“small” being man-sized as these things go), shaped by solar heat
and the lay of the land. I watched it lazily the last time I was
here—it gave the place a haunted, ghost-town look, appropriate for
the site of a colony playing dead. I keep my Link live, beaming the
scene unedited (though with the unavoidable delay) across space,
assuming I’ll have something more than shots of sand-devils and
unresponsive ruins to send back to the eager viewers on Earth.

As agreed, the ETE keep their ships and their teams
out of camera view, close enough to intervene if things go wrong,
but otherwise invisible to those Earthside who remain uncomfortable
of any cooperation (or even interaction) between us. The PK
certainly know the ETE are here, but we still appear (and probably
are) quite vulnerable, waiting just across the open plain from the
Industry “ruin”, well under their guns.

The PK also knew to expect us, assuming they’ve been
monitoring our messages back-and-forth, which included my “offer”
to Earthside Command risk another try at negotiating with them. The
fact that they don’t greet us with immediate gunfire is promising,
though it may only indicate lessons learned from whatever clashes
they’ve recently had with the ETE Guardians.

They leave us standing in the wind for ten minutes
before we see what we didn’t see last time we were here: movement.
Four ruddy man-shapes come up out of the rocky terrain somewhere
between us and the visible colony (probably from a subterranean
sally-port like the Shinkyo use), like they just walked up over
rise, their number matching our own group. They begin walking
toward us like they have nothing to fear.

With me I have Lieutenant Rios, Sergeant Horst and
Sakina. (Tru again lobbied to come, but I insisted that the mission
was far from safe despite ETE assurances.) I can hear Horst’s armor
rattle and scrape slightly as he shifts his weight, hyper-vigilant.
Rios feels more relaxed, having done this show before. Sakina is—as
usual—still as a statue.

As they get closer, I can see that the four coming to
meet us are all wearing standard Mars-camo LA uniforms, shrouded
caps and masks—we could easily be from the same unit (and in fact
we were, only fifty years ago). At the head of their group is a
tall male carrying only a compact PDW worn as a sidearm, while the
others carry light assault rifles. I see the eagle of a full
colonel on the leader’s collar. I’m not at all surprised to read
his nameplate.

“Colonel Samuel Janeway,” he introduces formally,
giving me a brief sharp salute which I return. “City of Industry
Peacekeeper Garrison.” He nods to indicate his companions. “This is
Lieutenant Straker, and Sergeants Torres and Winn…” They give me a
more respectful salute, actually holding it until I acknowledge
them. Straker is maybe thirty, a hard-looking but not unattractive
redhead, with what looks like a burn scar under the corner of her
mouth. The sergeants look like teenagers, lean and clean and
bright-eyed, posturing behind their weapons. They look like any
other boots fresh off a shuttle—only their uniforms look worn, old,
like the antique heirlooms they almost certainly are.

Janeway himself is maybe fifty, square-jawed,
thin-lipped and narrow-eyed, his skin leathery but clear.

“You brought a pet, I see,” he bites before I can
introduce my team, nodding toward Sakina (who manages not to kill
him on the spot).

“I’d be easy with the insults, Colonel,” I warn him
lightly. “This is the Zauba’a Ghaddar. If the tales are at all
accurate, you’ve already met—she would be the one that leaves the
squeamishly intimate calling card.”

I watch the sergeants get tense, grind their teeth.
Janeway has his own flash of anger, but wipes it away in a blink
and grins. Straker only eyes Sakina as if she’s sizing her up.

“You have interesting friends,” he allows icily.

“Some more interesting than others,” I suggest.

“I’m surprised your command even remotely tolerates
your intimacy with those nano-contaminated freaks,” Janeway cuts
again, now nodding to where he knows the ETE are watching from.

“You’ve been monitoring our communications. You know
how Earthside feels about the situation here.”

“As much or as little as you do,” he fences. “You
have to know they’re not giving you full disclosure, not remotely.
You also know they’ll relieve you of command the second they manage
to land their own boots on planet.”

“I’ve been unpopular before,” I counter lightly.

“Which is why you never made general,” he muses.
“I’ve been reviewing your file, Colonel. The only reason you’ve
kept your bird was your popularity with the masses. But then, this
Earth isn’t that Earth anymore.”

“Trying to break our uplink won’t improve that
relationship,” I refocus him. “Earth is coming back. I told you
that the last time we had a chat. Only now we have a
timeframe.”

“And now I have a better sense of the ground
you
stand on,” he reverses with a half-grin. “From what I
can see, your position isn’t any better than mine, and may in fact
be worse—you just haven’t accepted it yet. Or maybe you have and
you just won’t say so out loud, especially with your new masters
watching you so closely.” He taps his earjack to indicate he knows
my Link is recording this.

“I’m not here to talk about my position,” I try to
redirect him, “I’m here to discuss yours.”

“My position is just fine as-is,” he says with his
thin, lopsided grin. “I told you that last time. But now that you
can see up close, do we look like we’re hurting for food or
gear?”

“Your representative sample is impressive enough,” I
give him halfway.

“I don’t starve my Civvies to feed my soldiers,” he
insists evenly. I try reading his cadres’ eyes, but they keep
stoic. “And no, I’m not letting you in to inspect. You’ll just have
to trust me. It doesn’t take a nano-lab to make an indoor
greenhouse. Just like it doesn’t take Earthside engineers to cobble
together a centrifuge to keep our bones dense.”

“Impressive, assuming I’m taking your word for it,” I
allow. “But I doubt Earthside will leave you be just because you
don’t want anything from them. In fact, your self-sufficiency will
probably draw their interest more than if you were scraping.”

“That’s funny,” he toys, “I was thinking they’d be
more ‘interested’ in our weapons than our vegetable garden.”

“I won’t disagree,” I confirm.

“So what’s your grand plan, Colonel?” he presses. “We
empty our hands and open our arms and fall in with you lot, to
await the Happy Day when benevolent born-again Earth comes to save
our poor lost souls?”

“I’d be happy with mutual non-aggression.”

“But your Earthside masters won’t be,” he criticizes.
“And it’s our guns that are keeping them thinking twice about
interfering with us, at least for now.”

“What about the long view?” I prod.

“You let me worry about that,” he resists.

“Not worried about how your attitude will go over
with Earthside?” I push. His eyes go narrower and his jaw muscles
flex under his mask.

“Look behind me, Colonel…” He jerks his head in the
direction of the ruined colony dome. “My forefathers served proudly
and got shipped over fifty million miles from home and family to
bleed and choke and die in the dust defending this place when it
was still an airless desert. What they got for their sacrifice was
their home planet trying its best to murder them all—throwing
nuclear weapons at you is a hard gesture to mistake for anything
else. Yes, Colonel, I’ve been listening very closely to those
transmissions from ‘home.’ It doesn’t sound like anything has
changed where it counts—if anything, it’s worse. Speaking frankly,
bowing to those chickenshit blue-planet fuckers and playing the
dutiful pawn like you are is just too fucking expensive for any man
born of Mars, and it isn’t worth anything at all in return to me
and mine. We don’t want ‘relief’, and we don’t need help. This is
our home, this is our land—we shed blood for it. If you’d wipe
those fifty years of sleep-gunk out of your eyes, then took a look
around and see what century you’re in now, then maybe it’d be you
who’s throwing in with us. ”