The God Mars Book Two: Lost Worlds (9 page)

Then here and there we start seeing what look like
cisterns in some of the sheerer cuts, sinkholes in the rock full of
standing
water. The Bitter Apple and Red Olive plants that
grow only a meter or two tall in our greenhouse are fully
tree-sized down by these sheltered water sources. Honeyflower and
Rustbean cling to the rocks.

“Holy shit…” is the best Matthew can manage.

“You could live there,” Tru sighs.

It only gets greener as it goes. Within another
thirty miles, our hardy Graingrass is climbing up out of the
crevices and spreading like thick-bladed prairie grass across the
valley floor. In places, it reaches up to the sky like grove
bamboo, four or five meters tall, swaying in the winds.

The soil and rock has turned a deeper terra-cotta
color, and its textures look like water has indeed fallen recently:
there is the familiar cracking that happens to drying mud, and
signs of drainage where the dust and sand is now a swirling, veined
clay.

“You think it actually
rains
here?” Acaveda
asks, dumbstruck.

“Looks very much like where I grew up in the American
Southwest,” I tell her.

“Or Australia,” Tru offers.

“Doesn’t look like Mars,” Jane comments as he flies
on.

I feel numb. This completely different world was less
than a hundred miles from us all this time, and my caution kept us
from exploring it.

“Take your time,” I tell the pilots, trying to sound
like I’m still confident in my decision making. “Get good imaging.
This is all getting sent back to Earth.”

The closer they get to Tranquility, the more it looks
like the high-plateau deserts I visited in my youth: Tundra dotted
with shrubbery and grass in the open flatlands, but with gardens
and groves clinging to the canyon walls and ravines where water is
likely to accumulate when the desert gets rain.

“You’d think the Power Rangers would have shown this
place off first chance they got,” Matthew criticizes, considering
how much the ETE have played us their dreams for continuing to
terraform Mars as proof of their benevolent designs.

“It’d go far in making Earth forget what they’re
afraid of,” Lisa considers with less overt suspicion, but that only
proves Matthew’s point: Why didn’t the ETE show us this
immediately?

I try to remember what the ETE
did
tell us. I
mostly remember idle comments about ecosystems, green-frosted
orbital images, computer models. No actual images or details about
this region except for the vague warnings about hostile locals. I
got far better intel from Abbas, who only had the second-hand tales
of food traders who probably exaggerated to discourage
competition.

“It would sell me,” Tru agrees, the heavy concession
in her tone reminding me that she and her Ecos bled dearly to try
to stop the very research that made this possible. The ETE should
be ecstatic about what’s happening here.

“So why the lack of advertising?” Matthew pushes his
point. “What’s wrong with this pretty scene?”

“It doesn’t look that scary,” Kastl idly agrees.

“It’s beautiful, sirs,” Thomas comes on, her voice
echoing inside her helmet. “You really need to see this up
close.”

I remind her to look for signs of activity, maybe
even the trails used for the Nomad food routes.

“Stay focused, Lieutenant.”

The colony ruin comes into view in another few
minutes.

Tranquility’s three big domes were built “stacked” up
a steep ravine cut into the south rim of Coprates—the Datum-high
ridge that separates Coprates from the parallel Catena. The divide
is ribbed with such cuts. The colony scientists built into one of
the larger and wider ones looking to study erosion (hoping it was
due to ancient water and not just crust fracturing) and exploit the
exposed geologic history of the valley.

We can barely see the jagged, twisted lines of the
lower dome. It’s surrounded by green, overgrown with it, and large
sections of the dome are shattered. The other two domes are
completely buried under talus as the ridge apparently slid down on
them, creating a new slope now covered by a veritable forest, all
in the shadow of the newly-exposed cliff face that towers over the
colony ruin. The landing pads of the airfield just to the east are
still visible in the growth, partially buried, but the dock
facilities look smashed.

The scene immediately reminds me of pictures of
Southeast Asian temple ruins taken over by the jungle, only it
looks like this jungle may have blossomed out of the burst dome
like Tranquility was its seed.

“I’m no botanist,” Tru offers, “but it does look like
a lot of the wild growth we’ve seen so far may have started
here.”

“Tranquility had some impressive gardens,” Lisa
remembers, “multi-story hydroponic farms.”

“But did it have survivors?” Matthew refocuses.

“If the domes were all compromised, anyone who
survived the slide would have been hurting for air and heat,” Doc
Ryder assesses. “Their seedlings could have gone into stasis, then
germinated again years later when it got more temperate, but the
colonists may have needed to relocate.”

“But I’d come back home, especially if it was like
this,” Tru counters. “Or somebody’d be bound to move in.”

“Thomas to Ops,” she cuts in. “Look at this…”

The feed locks on a spot just east and downslope of
the pads. There’s nothing there but rock and green, but closer
scans show scars of old construction. Thomas overlays the original
colony blueprint.

“Fuel dump is gone,” Anton confirms. “Not buried.
Moved.”

“Scavengers?” Acaveda wonders.

“Or the colonists trying to keep it from scavengers,”
Tru considers.

“What did Abbas say about the site?” Lisa asks me to
refresh them.

“Something about wild people being hunted by another
group for sport,” I recall. “It’s where his revolver supposedly
came from. Nice piece. Lots of custom work on it. The kind of
weapon you use for precision shooting—sport, not combat. I tried
checking to see if guns like that came in on any of their cargo
drops, but MAI’s files on colony manifests are long since
dumped.”

“But it’s easily possible someone who still has guns
would use them on those who don’t,” Matthew voices his usual
opinion of human nature.

“A food source like this would stir powerful
competition,” Lisa allows.

“You think both groups may live in there somehow?”
Thomas asks.

“Or close by,” Tru extends.

“Busted and buried hasn’t been what it looks like,”
Matthew reminds us of the Shinkyo and PK sites. “If it ain’t
stripped, it’s occupied. Either one faction holds the place, or
it’s a DMZ. Site looks like it’s got a lot to fight over.”

“Other than the missing tanks, there’s no sign of any
activity—past or present—within what we’ve seen around the dome,”
Thomas assesses. “If the Nomads have been trading or raiding here,
they’re careful not to leave trails.”

“Circle and land out of sight-line,” I tell Acaveda
and Jane. “The Nomads are at least as afraid of this place as they
are of the PK colonies, and we had a time just getting within a
klick of them. Follow defensive protocols. No unnecessary
risks.”

“Isn’t this where the Lancer potentially became a
ghost-ship?” Thomas recalls.

“That’s the rumor,” I confirm. “Stay sharp—they’ve
probably seen you coming. Watch for snipers and ambushes. And
everybody out if it comes to shooting.”

The ships find a spot to touch down just to the west,
in the foothills of the Divide, putting one of the branching ridges
between us and the colony without giving up too much high
ground.

Thomas takes her time. Sets up a sniper team across
the ridgeline overlooking her planned approach, which will also
give us a clear Link feed to watch over them. Then she hikes in
with one squad, leaving Jones in charge of the LZ (and her
backup).

The squad does its best to hug the natural cover. It
takes them half an hour to make the crossing at a pace that won’t
create rockslides. Then her point man picks out what looks like an
actual water-formed arroyo that seems to flow from the shattered
lower dome. It’s lined with healthy plant life—enough to make our
greenhouse seem sparse—but it’s too wide and shallow for real
cover. It seems to form the most natural path to the dome. They
creep up on it enough to check the soil in the broad “bed”.

“That’s mud,” Tru confirms. “Or at least it was
recently. Which means there’s flowing water here.”

Thomas orders her point man—Specialist Jenovic—to
take a quick sample and then get back out of sight. Then they take
the slow crawl over the rocks, following the ridge slope toward the
dome.

Heat and motion sensors show nothing but greenery
rustling in the wind. The lower dome is almost the size of a
football stadium. Most of the facetted roof is broken in, but the
overgrowth hides the structures—the lab, utility and hydroponic
modules—that plans show should be filling the dome, surrounded by
the terraced experimental gardens. The exposed dome was devoted to
research agriculture, developing hybrids ideally suited to green
Mars. What we’ve seen is a testament to their success (possibly
posthumously).

Of the buried (or crushed) domes, one was devoted to
terraced hydroponics, food processing and colony support systems,
and the other to colony living and management facilities. There was
also a small-core reactor, supplemented by solar arrays.

Now that we have a perspective from the ground, I
have MAI project a 3-D model of the original colony structures over
the wrecked dome and slide slopes. The other two domes could well
be concealed whole and intact under the greened-over slide
mass.

I watch multiple Link feeds as Thomas divides her
squad into fire teams: one to cover while the other moves in to get
a look inside the exposed dome. The fact that they’ve managed (or
been allowed) to approach this close without resistance is not a
comfort.

There’s an old cargo bay hatch at ground level,
opening into the arroyo. Its doors are long gone. Vines of
Graingrass and Rustbean snake out of it and spread up over the dome
to join hundreds more growing out of the jagged breaches and out
across the ravine. The ground still shows no sign of recent
tracks.

“Somebody cut these hatch doors away a long time
ago,” Thomas examines. “Scavengers?”

“I think if you were trying to defend the site from
competitors, you’d want those heavy doors,” Lisa assumes.

“Unless you want your enemies walking in,” Matthew
says it before I do.

Taking that to heart, Thomas lets MAI sweep through
the open hatchway without putting anyone in a possible firing line.
The hatchway opens into an equally door-less cargo-sized airlock,
that in turn opens directly into the dome. It reminds me of an old
castle gate.

“Still no sign of activity,” she reads MAI’s
assessment. “Going in…”

“We don’t have you covered once you’re through that
door,” Sergeant Masters—who’s leading the sniper team—cautions
her.

“Understood, Sergeant,” Thomas tells him, not
sounding terribly confident. Still, she does her job.

The H-A team leapfrogs smoothly through the open
hatchway, covering each other and as many angles of attack as they
can anticipate. Their boots crunch on a combination of undergrowth
and damp mud that’s flooded the original dome floor. The interior
is a jungle—only a few of the edges of the original terrace-like
garden decks can be made out.

“Does this look like blood?” I hear Spec-4 Regev ask
as his feed shows us one of the internal support columns. It’s
twisted with vines and its original white enamel paint is chipped
and battered, but there are smears of dark reddish brown too dark
to be Martian mud. Pulling away some of the overgrowth, we can see
these aren’t random markings—they look like the finger-painted
letters of a child.

I read what might be names: “MAK” “2GUN” “FERA”
“SPYK” “AKS” “DART”

Next to each name are rough tally marks, like the
scorecard of a child’s game.

“It looks like blood,” Thomas confirms softly.

“Holy…”

Jenovic—still on point—has stopped dead in his
tracks, his hand up in the fist-sign for “hold.” His own feed
points down at his boots, crunching on something under the thick
net of vines. He kicks up something thin and slightly curved, about
eight inches long, that looks like a piece of brown-stained
ivory.

“Rib bone,” Doc Ryder tells them over the Link,
taking a breath as Jenovic pans up. What had looked from a distance
like a vine-covered mound starts to focus into a hill of human
bones, at least twelve feet wide and taller than Jenovic. He has to
back up to get a shot of the top of it, which is crowned with
roughly-polished human skulls.

“Lieutenant?” Jenovic asks for advice, trying to keep
from sounding as unsettled as he must be. Thomas gestures for
everyone to get low, cover their perimeter.

I click up a separate channel and signal Abbas’ Link.
It takes him a few seconds to answer. His face on my screen shows
he’s in his shelter. I see his women getting a meal ready over his
shoulder.

“Ah, my friend…” he begins with his usual warmth.

“Rather urgent question,” I press him. “The food
route caravans from Coprates: What do you give them in
exchange?”

He looks a bit bewildered, thinks his answer over for
a moment, then tells me what he had before: “Survival gear.
Weapons. Food and medical supplies from the sky drops when we
can.”

“But the sky drops have gotten less and less,” I
remind him. “Has that changed what you trade with?”

“It did not make much matter, friend Ram,” he
considers. “Once they have refilled their air and water reserves,
the traders have always been most interested in acquiring weapons
and armor—as much as we can give them.”