The God Mars Book Six: Valhalla I Am Coming

by Michael Rizzo

  “Asmodeus thrives on humiliating those he decides to target,” I give them what history I know. “Manipulating them. Defeating and destroying them on every level. Preferably in the most cruel and bloody way possible. He enjoys watching people suffer—the more the better, both in quantity and quality…”

  I take a ragged breath as it hits me:

  “He’s just made us into the monsters, made us commit atrocities that can never be forgiven. Don’t forget, it’s not just us he’s declared war on. His real target is Earthside Command, the UN World Government. That’s who he wants to hurt most, maybe even more than Michael—Colonel Ram. We’re just a painpoint, something he can grab hold of and twist.”

  “But we’ve cut off his ability to launch cyberwar attacks,” Anton tries.

  “We’ve cut ourselves off,” I crush that “victory”. “Don’t you think he could build his own uplink?”

  “He’s only letting you think you cut him off, so you’ll keep your own uplinks down,” Dee concurs.

  “But as soon as we re-establish, he’ll use them against us again,” Kastl grouses, still holding Jackson’s pistol on the disarmed guards, who are kneeling back against the bulkhead with their hands behind their helmets. “So how do we beat this bastard?”

  “When he was human, it came down to predicting his next move, meeting him there, then relying on his desire to hurt you in person to draw him into a fight,” Dee explains. “Then you out-maneuver and outgun him when he thinks he has you where he wants you.”

  “And kill him,” I finish. “Without hesitation, without mercy.”

  “But this one is unkillable,” Rick has to point out. “Even if we get a shot, we can’t be sure it’s him. Or the only him.”

  “We need to crack his network,” Dee concludes. “Get in, isolate and target his peripherals then systematically destroy every aspect of him.”

  “So the nukes we sent won’t do shit,” Kastl confronts Jackson, “except maybe get used to do more harm on our behalf.”

  “The nukes are bait,” Dee tells him the real plan. “More so, Colonel Ram protecting those nukes is bait. Bait he won’t be able to resist.”

  “He’s resisted it so far,” Rick criticizes.

  “Patience, Doctor,” Dee tries.

  “Patience just got a few hundred innocent people vaporized.”

  “Then we need to control what we can control.” Dee looks at me. I nod my understanding.

  “Gold Leader is incoming,” Kastl updates us.

  I throw Jackson to the floor, then turn to the kneeling guards.

  “Take Colonel Jackson into custody. Confine him. Then do the same with Lieutenant Colonel Stark when he lands.”

  “They can’t take orders from you!” Jackson raves from the deck. “You’re not a person! You’re a thing!”

  “But she’s still a UNMAC officer,” Kastl stands up for me.

  “Colonel Jackson is compromised, unfit for command. Take him to Isolation. Now!” Halley orders more specifically, being the highest ranking officer in the facility that hasn’t been relieved of command by order or by force. They still hesitate. So she makes it clear for them: “This man just dropped a nuclear weapon on hundreds of innocent people. He may have been acting under the influence of a mind-altering enemy device, but you don’t have that excuse. Do you want to be on-record as supporting him when the JAG investigation hits?”

  They finally move to take him, two of them picking him up off the deck and holding him by either arm. Dee risks giving the other two back their weapons, though I expect he’s slaved the guns to his own control, just in case.

  Jackson’s gone away somewhere, likely succumbing to shock, the horror of his condition finally sinking in. He shuffles like a zombie as they lead him away.

  “See if you can find it and get it out of him,” I tell Halley. She doesn’t look confident, but follows them out. But before she leaves, she stops and turns, stews on something for a moment, then tells me:

  “I’m not a combat officer, so I’m officially deferring command to you, Colonel Ava. Let the record so state.”

  We exchange nods—this is a massive risk for her, and an equally massive act of trust.

  After she’s gone, the rest of us are left in tense silence. Kastl gently sets Jackson’s weapon down on the console and takes a deep, tremulous breath.

  “First light, we need to get eyes out there, search for survivors,” I decide.

  “You think those people—if any of them are still alive—are going to accept any help from us?” Rick argues.

  “We can’t do nothing,” I insist. “Maybe we can arrange for the Katar or one of the other groups to reach out to them on our behalf.” I know it’s unlikely anyone on this planet will be willing to work with us after today, but we have to try. I’m thinking it may be smarter to offer the aid through the other hybrids, since they’ve sown some goodwill with the locals, but I’m not willing to say that out loud yet. My position is perilous as it is.

  “You need to make the announcement,” Dee reminds me of my duty, as if reading my mind.

  I take a few breaths, realize how much I’m shaking.

  “Captain Kastl, give me a base-wide broadcast.”

  He nods, keys up the PA system, then slides back to give me room.

  “All personnel, this is Colonel Ava. Colonel Jackson has been relieved by Colonel Halley. I have taken temporary command of this installation until communications can be re-established with General Richards or Earthside Command. Our first priority will be re-establishing secure communications with Orbit and Melas Two.”

  I hesitate, debating whether I should tell them we just murdered hundreds of innocent people, the very survivor descendents this mission was sent to locate and aid. I’m sure the scutt will spread soon enough. They deserve to hear it through their command chain. But I don’t think it should come from me, not right after I led a mutiny, however justified.

  “Ava out.”

  Then I turn to Rick and Anton.

  “Re-establishing communication with Orbit,” I repeat my priority. “I need to get eyes back on the Warhorse, preferably without giving Asmodeus those eyes. Can we get the laser uplink back online?”

  “We can, but we don’t have Colonel Jackson’s recognition codes,” Kastl gives us a barrier.

  “I doubt he’d be willing to share them with me,” I suspect.

  “Maybe Halley will have better luck,” Rick tries. “Or we can try to sell Burns on giving it a go.”

  “Do it,” I order.

  Rick cycles out to see what he can make happen.

  I realize Kastl is looking preoccupied, uncertain.

  “What is it, Captain?”

  “Just… Is the laser link really secure? I mean, it can’t be hacked, but if Asmodeus can listen in directly on either end, old-school eavesdropping… Is there any such thing as ‘secure’ communication anymore?”

  “Actually, we need him to be listening in a little bit,” Dee reveals. Kastl’s jaw actually drops. Anton looks at Dee like he’s not sure if he should be worried that he’s malfunctioning or compromised. So Dee explains: “I haven’t been able to effectively track and locate Asmodeus due to his technological advantages and my lack of resources. Now that I can more freely access the UNMAC AI and communication network, I can gain the upper hand, break the maze he’s hiding in, map his network, target all of his active nodes. I just need him to try hacking in, even passively.”

  “So we need to be a little sloppy,” Kastl accepts nervously. Then worries: “But won’t that give Colonel Ram’s position away?”

  “Asmodeus has never taken eyes off him,” Dee is certain.

  “So he’s rolling into a trap,” Anton isn’t liking.

  “We’ve played this game before,” I recognize heavily.

  Dee nods.

  “Does Colonel Ram have a chance?” Anton needs to know. “Alone against that monster?”

  “If we play this right, he won’t be alone.”

&n
bsp; Rick and Anton got the laser systems back up and calibrated within the hour, but couldn’t get any kind of response to even confirm that they’d established a link. So they tried putting a transmitter back in an AAV—Starks—and beaming an encrypted signal to Orbit. Still nothing.

  Dee says it isn’t because they can’t reply, it’s because they won’t. They saw Melas Two compromised. Then they saw Jackson kill the uplink on our own roof. They’re assuming we may be compromised as well, or they’re not willing to take the risk, especially not without the command code protocols that Richards set up, and maybe not even then at this point given what they saw happen to where Richards was.

  Jackson’s been in no mood or condition to cooperate, cycling wildly from horrified shock to paranoid raving. Halley’s having no luck finding the tech in his head, a challenge magnified because he won’t stay still for imaging, not even in full restraints—he’s cutting himself on the straps. She finally had to fully sedate him.

  Burns is being equally uncooperative, citing a lack of authenticated command orders. I suspect he’s hoping to avoid his court martial by getting us all wiped out (and himself along with us). I even took the time to check him for anomalous signals, but couldn’t get a ping out of him.

  We need to talk to Melas Two. But we haven’t heard a sound out of them since they took down their own uplink, and the ASV eyes we had on the site just show it completely blanketed in black until they lose sight of it after dark. (The EMP they dropped, as expected, had zero effect on Chang or whatever he’s become.)

  On infra-red, the site’s been ice cold, colder than the background environment, but that could just be an effect of Chang’s light-absorbing “cloak”—it may absorb heat as well. And we have no idea what’s been happening under that cloak all this time.

  The ASVs we have on watch are certainly close enough to hear if Richards tried to call out using one of his own aircraft’s transmitters, even with the aircraft still down in their blast-resistant bays. But our repeating calls for response continue to go unanswered. If we could get gear closer… but that would mean getting closer to Chang (or whatever he’s become), as well as any of Asmodeus’ seal-piercing insect-like micro-bots that may still be active.

  I really need to know what’s happening there, but I’m not willing to risk more lives. I could go myself, but I’m sure my few allies would insist I stay here to keep command of this base.

  “Dee, can you contact any of the other hybrids?” I use my last option.

  “That is also a network Asmodeus can monitor,” he warns. “They’ve been maintaining operational silence for that reason.”

  “But will they respond to you if you called them?”

  He doesn’t answer me in words, but I can hear him signaling, sending out a general call.

  “Tell them I need eyes on…” I catch myself, correct: “No. See if any of them are willing to meet me here. Or close by.” Better I tell them what I want in person.

  But I know they don’t know me, have no reason to trust me except because of my relationship with Michael, and I think I’ve devalued that by consistently remaining loyal to UNMAC. I certainly have no investment to be asking for favors.

  Sunrise brings the predictable wind, and our planted sensors start detecting fallout blowing our way. Small consolation: The warhead was low-yield and relatively “clean”, but the projections Anton works up tell us that a swath of the Central Blade Valley east-southeast of Katar will be effectively poisoned for a few decades to come.

  “It probably won’t kill the plants—they’re designed to be resistant to the levels of solar and cosmic radiation that bake this place—but their produce won’t be safe to eat, not for a long time.”

  One more thing to hold Jackson accountable for, assuming I can hold him accountable for anything. (And no updates from Halley and Ryder about locating the nano-ware in his head, but even if they find it, I doubt they could do anything about it anymore than we’ve been able to do anything for those Harvester-infected souls we have slowly dying in stasis.)

  “Colonel Ava, I have an urgent encrypted flash from Watchdog Two,” Kastl interrupts my frustrated brooding.

  The audio is fuzzy, and so is the video, but it’s a daylight shot of Melas Two, from the nose-cam of one of the two ASV’s we have watching from what we assume is safe distance, signal boosted back here by the strongest mobile transmitter we have on planet: the Leviathan Three, parked at midpoint.

  The black blanket is no longer covering it. In fact, except for the visible damage to the refugee camp and the uplink tower, everything looks peaceful.

  “Are they picking up anything, any signs of life?” I need to know. Kastl encrypts and sends my queries.

  I get back a poor attempt at a zoom on the “courtyard” of the base. The air bays and Aircom bunker wing are blocking much of it from this angle, but what we can see—what my recon team can see—is movement in the shelter camp. People. But I don’t see violence or chaos, just bodies moving back and forth through the rent pressure tunnels between shelters, almost like business-as-usual, but with higher than normal traffic. Something is happening, but…

  It looks like people are working in masks to patch the torn sections, make repairs. Are they just trying to be more comfortable while they wait for the end? (I’d think death by asphyxia would be preferable to death by Harvester.) Other shapes—barely visible inside the opaque fabric tubes—are moving not only between shelters, but also seem to be going in and out of the base bunkers. How much of the base was compromised?

  “I’ve got a bay opening,” Kastl points out. It’s Pad Four, one of the closer ones to our recon position. An ASV lifts to surface-level on its elevator deck, but doesn’t spin up for liftoff. The engines read as cold.

  But then we get a signal, relayed from its transmitter.

  “This is General Richards calling Grave Base. Colonel Jackson, do you copy? Repeat, this is General Richards calling Grave Base. Please respond.”

  My wave of relief is almost immediately soured by the skepticism that this could be a trap, a ruse. (And does that make me just as paranoid as Jackson and the others? I tell myself no, it’s just that I can’t afford to risk lives, so I have to tread carefully, tactically.)

  I risk approving an open link on a non-networked receiver. Kastl’s ready with it in seconds, and I reply:

  “General Richards, this is Colonel Ava. Do you copy?”

  “Copy…” he sounds both relieved and confused (but probably not as wary as I do).

  “Colonel Jackson was compromised and has been relieved of command. There was an incident…” I try to be as professionally discreet as possible, especially since I really don’t know who’s listening. “I’ve taken temporary command of the installation. What is your situation?”

  “Situation… Situation remarkably normal, Colonel.” It sounds like he’s really not sure what to say, and not because he’s trying to be discreet. “There’s no sign of the black nano-mass that descended on us. It just vanished all at once at zero-five-thirty this morning. And as far as we can tell, all of the micro-bot delivery systems have been neutralized. They’re just lying around all over, inert, including the seeds they were carrying.”

  “Casualties?” I ask the hard question.

  “It’s too early to be sure but… possibly zero. We’re keeping the exposed reasonably quarantined in the breached sections, and Doctor Shenkar’s team has been running exams on everyone. But so far, no one appears to be infected.”

  There’s a unanimous surge of hope and relief throughout Ops. Under better circumstances, I expect there’d be cheering. But I have to damp the moment, because these aren’t those kind of circumstances.

  “Advise caution, General. Asmodeus has been employing a new kind of weapon. Very subtle, very hard to detect, even with our new gear. It influences behavior without causing significant neurological damage.” I let that sink in for a moment, let it sink that surge of relief we all just felt, then take another careful step: �
��We should continue this conversation in person.”

  “Agreed, Colonel,” he allows, his tone much more serious now. I consider my fairly limited options.

  “Unfortunately, I’m not comfortable leaving this facility, given the circumstances. So I’m going to ask you to fly here, one ASV only, under the escort of the two aircraft I have watching Melas Two.” I’m going to have to send a relief flight first, I realize, and that will cause a significant delay when we really can’t afford one, but it’s the best play I can come up with. “We’ll meet outside, on the airfield. I’ll signal you when we’re ready to escort you.”

  “I’ll be awaiting your call, Colonel,” he accepts after a brief hesitation. I know he’s smart enough to expect a trap waiting for him on this end, and I’m grateful that he trusts me enough to risk it. And his options aren’t nearly as thin as mine: He’s got a lot more aircraft, ordnance and manpower than we do. He could easily decide to isolate us, take the facility by force of arms, or just blow us off the map.

  I can only hope that he’s still in control of his own mind, that Asmodeus hasn’t tampered with him. But I can’t be sure until I can be within a meter of him.

  We sign off, and I order the last two aircraft we’ve got to spin up and relieve Watchdog.

  If Dee’s got anything to say about my choices, he keeps it to himself, his expression as unreadable as a lifelike mask.

  Chapter 8: “And As We Wind On Down The Road…”

  From the memory files of Mike Ram:

  “Colonel…?”

  It’s Horst.

  It’s daylight. Morning, given the color of the sky and the whistle of the wind over the crater rim. It gently batters the groundcover all around me. It would be a beautiful day, but then I see the remnant column of ugly smoke, grown like a toxic tree from where Liberty used to be, and I remember to hate.

  “Colonel Ram?”

  He’s standing over me, but a few meters off, safe distance. Lyra is about a meter behind him, safer distance. Both wear L-As and cold weather coats. They look worried through their masks and goggles, their facial bruises already turning ugly purples and yellows. But more than that: something in their eyes is deeply wounded, broken by trauma.