The God Mars Book Two: Lost Worlds (26 page)

He’s in
space
. At least in orbit.

“From that assessment,” he continues, “your standing
order is to dig in and await relief and reinforcement. The Discs
should not be able to do critical damage to your facilities if you
bury everything under at least two meters of regolith—that includes
your com-towers. We were not expecting such a welcome when we
launched the initial transports, but first relief is still on
schedule for arrival in your orbit mid-January. More substantial
military resources are now on the way and will arrive by early
March, with the next flights following in June. Until then, keep
your people alive.”

He signs out officially.

I immediately give MAI a brief reply to send:

“General Richards: Are you in space?”

It takes two hours to get the answer.

“Yes, Colonel. I
am
en route to you. Colonel
Burns will arrive with the March flights to oversee re-supply and
begin to assess the situation. My ship launched two days ago, and
will arrive with the June fleet. I didn’t want to advertise my
mission, as there is already a lot of fear, as well as renewed pain
and rage, since the news of the Disc attack was hacked to the
public media nets. We’ve been trying to avoid exacerbating the
situation, and the Council has been downplaying the military
resources on our outbound relief flights. As we have taken steps to
better secure our transmissions, I can now inform you of certain
aspects of our mission.

“We do assume a high likelihood of another encounter
with the Discs, possibly imminent. That means one of our mission
priorities is to establish a fortified foothold on the surface, in
order to facilitate secure relief operations. To that end, we will
not only be reinforcing both Melas bases, but we will also be
investigating what might be salvageable on Phobos and hardening a
base there. I myself I will be directing the re-establishment of an
orbital staging facility to replace Ares’ Station, this one
designed to resist Disc weapons.

“I don’t want you to see this as a move to replace
you in command, Colonel. The Council considers you a valuable
asset. I will oversee operations in orbit, while Colonel Burns will
eventually step into Colonel Burke’s former position as Melas Two
Military Operations Commander, serving under you as Planetary CO.
Colonel Ava will remain in command of Melas Three, and her
promotion to full colonel will be transmitted by Earthside Command
within the day.

“Other promotions are also pending: Captain Jill
Metzger and Captain Timothy Kastl will both be promoted to the rank
of Major. First Lieutenants Juan Rios, Margo Thomas, Maria Acaveda
and Wilson Smith will be promoted to captain. First Sergeant
Stanley Horst, and Technical Sergeants Madea Morales and Victor
Thomasen will be given field commissions to the rank of second
lieutenant.”

He takes a moment, breathes, looks like he’s trying
to decide the wisdom or timing of what he’s thinking about telling
me.

“One other thing you should be aware of, Colonel: Our
analysis of the Disc attack on your base showed a pattern in the
way that the Discs engaged the ETE that were present. The Discs
appeared to give priority to testing the ETE defenses and weaponry.
Their pattern of attack against
your
assets was similar to
previous encounters: take out defensive guns, shoot down aircraft,
make suicide runs at critical command structures. If they had
followed this pattern against the ETE, the ETE would have taken
them down easily, but the Discs showed unusual caution in
systematically probing the ETE weapons and shields.

“The Discs restraint in engaging the ETE aircraft
might have supported old suspicions that the ETE were involved in
the original Disc attacks, but when that last drone made a run at
your position—and we’ve reviewed this footage extensively,
Colonel—it looks like it
intentionally
veered at the last
instant in order to collide directly with Mr. Stilson. Simon
Stilson was too late, Colonel, if only by a few tenths of a second:
he would
not
have gotten between the Disc and the Ops Tower
in time to prevent the impact that would very likely have killed
you and Captain Kastl. Either the Disc made a split-second decision
that Stilson was a higher value target, or its true intention in
attacking your position was to draw the ETE away from the greater
protection of their ship. If the drone was capable of detecting
that Mr. Stilson’s defenses had been depleted, the second scenario
becomes highly likely.

“In any case, your orders stand: Your priority is the
protection of your people until we arrive to reinforce you. You are
not to devote material resources to the defense of the ETE, no
matter what personal debt you may think you owe them.

“I do look forward to working closely with you in the
months to come, Colonel Ram. Message ends.”

I call Lisa after my second spin to relay the news of
her promotion, and bounce Richards’ odd revelations off of her. I
realize it’s the first real conversation we’ve had since Matthew
died.

“No stars for your uniform?” she says, barely
joking.

“I did recently get arrested for defying a direct
order,” I remind her with a similarly frail veil of humor. “I seem
to remember it being you that arrested me.”

I immediately regret saying it. It can’t be a joke,
not yet. I can feel her withdraw into her official posture even
from over a hundred miles away.

“Sorry, Colonel,” I try to apologize—but I call her
by her rank, not by her name. “That was uncalled-for. You did what
needed to be done.”

“Apparently it got me the bird,” she tries making
light of her promotion. I give her a smile.

“You finally caught up with me,” I give her, flashing
back to how badly we pushed the code of conduct when we were
sleeping together and she was a lieutenant and I was a major. But
those were different times, a different war, where none of us could
have any life at all outside of UNACT, because it would give the
enemy a target.

“Only because you let me,” she gives back. And she
looks like she wants to say more, and I want to say more, but not
over the Link.

“Don’t be a stranger just because you’ve got your own
command,” I tell her.

She takes a few moments to digest that, fragments of
a lifetime of memories dancing behind her eyes, then finally: “I
won’t.” And she signs off.

Tru is waiting for me when I go back to my
quarters.

“Stalking me?” I deflect.

“Seems to be the only way to speak with you
face-to-face with any kind of privacy,” she gives me back. “I
haven’t spoken to you without a Link since the funeral, and you
weren’t in the mood for talking much then.” She nods her head in
the direction of my quarters, letting me know she wants “any kind
of privacy” for whatever she has to say.

“I haven’t spoken to anyone much since the funeral,”
I excuse superficially, but nod to let her know I understand what
she wants.

Sakina is waiting just inside the hatch, standing at
attention in her armor like she’d been waiting there for some time.
Tru, for her part, doesn’t startle visibly as she almost walks into
the intimidating display.

Sakina hardly acknowledges Tru at all, but I know a
performance for unappreciated company when I see it. Still, she
doesn’t need me to tell her to click the room’s sentry systems to
“privacy.”

“Have a seat,” I offer Tru as soon as the hatch seals
behind us. Tru takes the bed, darting a brief defiant glance at
Sakina, who continues to pretend that Tru is insignificant, and
certainly not a threat. But Sakina doesn’t sit—just keeps standing,
playing bodyguard. The stark difference between her behavior this
time and the last time Tru visited—before we’d become intimate—is
uncomfortably glaring. Sakina is being territorial as more than a
bodyguard.

“You can’t be okay with any of this,” Tru lays into
her reason for coming, sounding like she’s keeping a lot of rage in
check.

“News travels,” I downplay.

“
You
gave me access to the communications,”
she reminds me pointedly. “And I didn’t need to hear Richards’
latest performances to know that Earthside is playing the worst
kind of game with us.”

“The Discs hurt all of us,” I make the excuse I’m
obligated to. “Badly. They all but destroyed
both
worlds
with the attack in ‘65. And no one got any chance at all to fight
back.”

“Which means no one got revenge,” she bites.

“Or any sense of safety,” I counter. “Now the Discs
are back, and apparently just as strong as ever.”

“And the news that they’re very likely automated and
self-replicating only makes it worse,” she gives me some kind of
agreement. “It means we can’t stop them just by stopping the
monster that sent them. But that’s no excuse for what Earthside is
doing.”

“What are they doing?” I play coolly dumb.

“Besides sticking us out to get killed,” she’s almost
shouting, “they’re heading into military escalation, even quicker
than in the colony days.” She pulls herself down a few degrees. “We
talked about what scary bullshit they might do because we’ve had
hostile encounters with the locals, or because of what the ETE have
been up to. But now…”

“I know,” I try to agree without agreeing.

“They’re not coming to relieve us, they’re coming to
garrison
us,” she specifies her fear. “They’ll send guns and
troops and bigger and better weapons, and they
will
start
shooting. And when shooting doesn’t work, they’ll bomb. They may or
may not manage to stop the Discs for good, but they will go hard
after anyone who gets in the way of their agenda—locals, the ETE,
maybe even
us
if we don’t like what they’re doing and try to
stop it. What was the famous Bushwar Doctrine? ‘You’re either with
us or you’re with the enemy.’ I’m sure you remember that, Colonel
Ram.”

I’m not sure if she meant that to sting or not, but
it’s been too many years to feel slaps like that anymore. Instead,
I allow her a thoughtful nod, settle into the one chair in the
room, lean into her to let her know I’m hearing her. But then I
shift focus, try to get to the root of it:

“What about the civvies? What are they saying?”

“There’s a lot of anxiety,” she tells me after
regrouping. “Maybe a third—and only a third—want to try to go home,
no matter what home is anymore. The rest still want to make some
kind of a life here. But the way Earthside is playing us, the
bullshit orders and ultimatums they’ve dropped, the way they’ve
gone so completely stranger, there’s a lot of talk about walking,
just packing up necessaries and leaving the base, getting the hell
away from all things UNMAC. Maybe settling in with the Nomads,
maybe finding some other promising ground far away from here. We
could talk to the ETE, see if they would recommend some choice real
estate.”

“Are you thinking of joining this exodus?” I confront
her.

“I don’t know,” she admits with some difficulty. “I
guess I’m like you. I know Earthiside is going to fuck me and mine.
But if I’m not here I’ve got even less chance at doing anything
about it. And odds are running and hiding won’t help: they’ll come
after us eventually, enforce their righteous will…”

“It’s tempting to take that walk, though. Isn’t it?”
I give her lightly, softening.

“Abbas would take you in,” she reminds
needlessly.

“So would Paul,” I add lightly. “But I think the ETE
would house me in some kind of zoo for primitive wildlife.”

“You won’t go.” It isn’t a question.

“I don’t think I’m done just yet,” I tell her.

She looks me in the eye. “Your message to the
survivors we’ve encountered, about how we need to stand together…
That applies to us as well. I’m not going anywhere.” Then she looks
up at Sakina, forces a grin. “You still think your boyfriend has a
shot at saving the planet?”

Sakina doesn’t answer Tru, but I turn and look into
her eyes. She takes a long, deep breath, gives me the slightest of
nods.

I finish the day by confronting what I’ve put
off—what I‘ve ordered put off—for three months.

The room smells stale. It’s been shut up since he
left it. The bed is made up but wrinkled. I remember we’d both been
confined to quarters just before the attack. We both jumped up and
ran for Ops when the Discs came. Then he left for the Lancer.

“I love you, too.”

Famous last words.

I open his foot locker. His closet. His drawers. Open
his life. Sit on his bed.

He didn’t bring much with him when he got on the
shuttle. His old 10mm sidearm, finish worn from decades of use. Two
of his ugly Hawaiian shirts—the rest of his clothing is all issue.
A few old paper books, well-thumbed and spines broken. One is our
old friend Charlie Waters’ story about raising his autistic
daughter (which sold based on the one brief chapter where I crashed
into his life). Five more are what he called his “penny dreadfuls,”
the pulp bestsellers he wrote with Charlie during his attempt at
retirement. Stories about me. Us. Ridiculous adventures we never
had. Spoofs and satires of our ugly fame. Fun reads. One is the
memoir of General Thomas Richards—grandfather of the current one—in
which he actually attempts to speak fondly of us. And fails, if you
read between the lines. (But he is remarkably candid about the ugly
politics that ran us.)

He’s got a personal flash card loaded with old stills
and videos. Of us. Of those we served with. Rick, when he was
younger. Lisa. Amber, the first girl I really believe he loved,
killed by a sniper’s bullet probably meant for him. Or for me, but
I failed to show up that night.

Then he’s older. Hanging out with me and Charlie. No
longer a soldier, not then. But he’s happier. He looks happy. We’re
smiling. Honestly smiling. Enjoying the company of friends. Eating.
Drinking. Telling old stories. Laughing.