Awestruck, I turn and look back at the Oculus dome. On the inside, it is geometric perfection, but from the outside: Above the cut-stone entry, all I see is an oddly lumpy mass—like a small child’s putty sculpture—painted with their signature camouflage patterns. Behind it rises the terminus of the canyon, a sloping rock wall that reaches all the way up to the pointed summit crest of the Spine Range, a few thousand meters up. I can only imagine what the colony looks like from above, from orbit. I also imagine their colony engineers and artisans, pouring over satellite images, supervising the construction and camouflaging from somewhere up high in the cliffs. How many years—decades—did this take?
(The Pax told us that the Katar came here from their destroyed colonies of origin to the west, but I don’t remember them specifying how long ago. The Pax said they had help from the Jinn in building their massive Hold Keep, when the Jinn were still willing to help in that way. Did the Katar have similar assistance?)
I look back east, take it all in again. The protective canyon slopes rise up on either side, forming sharp-crested walls that reach to the heights of the main range. These crests form the “U” of a massive, deep box canyon, five klicks long (though the southern ridge is two klicks longer than the northern) and three-and-a-half wide from ridge to ridge, that splits the eastern end of the Spine along its axis (making the Spine Range look like a two-pronged fork, with lopsided tines). The colony itself fills the bottom of the terminal end of this U, stretching over half-a-klick wide and well over a klick long (if measured from the jagged line of the Gate Wall up to the Oculus—I’m not sure what more may reach further upslope).
“What about heat?” my father asks. “How do you avoid being seen on infrared?”
“Our roofs are thick, and our chimneys are designed to diffuse the heat of our fires,” Negev grants him an explanation, sounding like he appreciates the question. “Even then, we measure our fuel burning carefully.”
I remember the Pax speaking of similar practices. But then, my own people have spent generations wearing layered cloaks to hide our heat and limiting our own heater use. In fact, every group on this planet has built their way of life around hiding from the eyes of Earth (whether they were looking for us or not). But the Pax and Katar have managed methods using only what the planet provides. I haven’t seen them use any technology left from Pre-Bang times.
While I’ve been lost in the view, Murphy has found something. We begin to gather around a large stone—three meters high and a meter wide, set standing in the middle of the Plaza. I remember passing it on our way in, and dismissing it as another odd random shape among a world of them, but now I can see that one side is naturally flat—the side facing the Oculus, as if to be seen by those exiting (and I would have, if I hadn’t been so mesmerized by the view). There are five names carved on it, the first letter of each surname made bold:
KHAN, RAJEESH
ALMQUIST, JENS
TALOFF, HELENA
AKINAGA, KIRA
ROMANOV, PAVEL
“The Founders of our City,” Negev explains with obvious reverence.
“K-A-T-A-R,” I spell out the initials.
“Your first Kings?” Straker asks. Negev nods. Then he steps back, and his warriors open a space for us to pass, back down the steps from the Plaza and back down into the main part of the colony.
Our new “home” is a much longer walk, most of it climb. We take a right turn about midway back to where we were sheltered last night, and are led through narrower winding paths, up the base-slope of the south canyon wall. The rocks have been cut and placed forming steps that bring us up above the main colony, giving me another look at its camouflaging.
Then we get taken through a brief maze of boulders that reminds me of Pax or Forge defenses, except the paths in are easily visible from wear. It takes us to a square man-sized entrance cut into the rocks of the slope, with a fabric shelter hatch stretched and sealed across the opening—the first leftover from Pre-Bang I’ve seen, but it tells me they keep some remnants of that existence, however low-tech.
Looking back the way we came, I realize this place would not be visible from the main colony, not even the Oculus.
One of the warriors unzips the seal, which exposes a second fabric hatch—an airlock. We get ushered inside in groups of five, the most that can fit in the space, and when we’re sealed in, the inner hatch is unzipped from the other side by a female in civilian attire. A brief rush of equalization hits me in the face. They still do have pressurized spaces.
But when we’re inside, the spaces look like they’ve been unused. Even though it looks like an attempt was made to clean up, I still see smears of dust on the cast floor and the “sills” of the few pillbox-like windows (these are sealed with some kind of polycarb—more old-colony remnants).
We’re in a set of rooms, connected by open doorways, each space big enough for a family to shelter in. The dim light is provided by the windows and a very few small sealed skylights cut up through the stone roof. We’ve been provided colony-era cots with mattress pads, tables and simple chairs, extra blankets, well-used heaters, and washing basins. They’ve also brought us ample water, and Negev points to a familiar valve sticking out of one of the cast walls.
“Oxygen feed.” He demonstrates by turning the stopcock. It looks compatible with our canisters, but unlike Feedline Taps, this one bleeds oxygen freely into the space when opened. We take off our masks and sample the effect cautiously, then gratefully.
“I thought you didn’t need such amenities?” my father questions.
“This was a nursery,” Negev explains. “For infants and the infirm.”
“How long have you done without oxygen supplements?” Straker asks.
“Seven years Mars,” he tells us the equivalent of fourteen or so Earth Standard. Less than a generation. “But we began years before. Slowly adjusting. Now only the very young and very old have Plus Need.”
We must look pathetic to them, still needing masks. But I’ve been experimenting, seeing how long I can go without my re-breather in their air before I start to feel hypoxic. I’ve managed over an hour so far, only feeling tired, before I start to get a little numb in the lips and fingers. My gauges tell me the outside pressure is almost .37, and pushing thirty percent oxygen. Still thin, though downright thick compared to Melas (especially Melas after the Net got taken down by the Unmaker bomb). And rich. My re-breather has been barely straining to keep my feed comfortable.
More food has been brought, including steaming pots of thick bean stew, bread, fresh fruits and vegetables—some varieties I’ve never seen before (and some that look like species we saw across the Lake, in that other version of Mars).
My father thanks Negev, and he turns to leave with his men, though I doubt they’ll go far.
“An idle question,” my father stops him. “Not to give insult, but in our definition of the word, a ‘king’ is a sole supreme ruler. You have five. How does that work?”
I actually catch the Bannerman grin a little.
“It began informal, in the years after the Burning…” He does the eye-closing, though barely longer than a blink. “Among the Founders, someone who was the best at something was called ‘king’ of that thing. ‘Cooking King’, ‘Welding King’… Our Founders became Kings of the Five Primary Crafts, the Skills that made and keep Katar. Science to study and develop. Art-Craft to design and create. Engineer to build. Merchant to manage goods and exchange. And War to protect.”
“Who grows the food?” I blurt out impulsively, hoping I didn’t sound like I think they overlooked something obvious.
“All,” Negev is patient. “All the able grow, all the able gather, all the able hunt. Food is our First Duty. What you produce is your Value. Second Duty is determined by talent, training or line. I belong to War by talent, training and line. My father and mother and siblings belong to War, as may my children. Sagrev Khan is my King.”
“And you?” my father addresses the female who le
t us in.
“Siri is Merchant,” Negev answers for her when she hesitates. “Je-an Taloff is her King. She can get you what you require, and calculate what Value you earn.”
Siri gives a little bow. She’s a slight creature, limbs nearly skeletal, but still taller than we are. Her hair is almost the same color as her dyed skin, tied up in braids.
“Earn?” Murphy wonders.
“Our system is similar to the Kokudaka system of Old Earth Japan,” she explains with unexpected confidence, possibly because she’s speaking of her own expertise. “Each person’s Value is assessed by what they produce, counted by how many it will feed, or in skills or products deemed of equivalent trade.”
“So right now I expect our Value is in negative numbers,” Murphy almost jokes. But I remember: the value of his own people was calculated by their colony AI. When resources were strained, those with the lowest values were culled. Murphy’s job—and his Value—was to do the culling.
“You have returned the daughter of my King,” Negev gives us.
I almost want to ask how much Terina’s life is worth in food, but know better. I also suspect that act’s Value is still being debated.
“How much is your division determined by family line?” Straker shifts topics. “Or is it up to personal choice?”
“It often passes through family,” a familiar, deep voice growls at us.
Sagrev Khan himself has come in from one of the side rooms. Either he arrived ahead of us, or there’s another way in. Negev and the other guards snap to attention so fast their armor rattles. Negev looks anxious, like he may have broken some taboo by talking to us. Siri just looks nervous. Khan ignores them. (He barely seems aware of us, but I realize that’s a practiced tactic. He is completely aware of us.)
“Some things pass in the genes, or the family culture one grows tall in,” he continues, apparently finally willing to answer questions. “But all are tested in school and then apprenticeship. Some can choose a different path, if they show talent. Service is our real First Duty, so the ability to serve is how you are truly Valued.”
“Your daughter honors your line,” my father tries a little formal flattery. “She is exceptionally brave, and an impressive fighter.”
“She is,” Khan accepts like this is well-established fact, like he’s just been told the color of the sky. “And she says the same of you. She has many high things to say about you. Especially this one…” He suddenly locks his dark eyes on mine like he’s thinking of attacking me. “…though I’m not sure why.”
He steps close enough to look well down on me. I stand my ground, even though I’m head-high to his breast plating. Rashid and some of the other fighters start to move in behind me, but I subtly gesture them to stay back. I look up into Khan’s glare, and catch a flash of a grin, as if he’s either appreciating my nerve or thinking about how he will kill me. Then he asks me directly:
“Tell me what happened after you left the Pax Keep.” He gestures to my gifted sword. “Tell me how you came by the Lost Legion of Steel.”
“We found a path across the Hot Zone…” my father begins, but Khan holds up his hand.
“I want this one to tell the tale. I have already heard yours.”
I flail for the words, chew my lip, glance around at my companions who all look variously worried about what I’ll say or choose not to say. But finally I see Straker nod at me, like she wants me to tell the
“Truth…” I stammer out. “The truth… is… there are powers in this world we can’t even begin to imagine. The Hot Zone… It’s real enough, it’s radioactive, deadly. But one morning we woke up and it… it just wasn’t there. Instead, there was water—a valley full of water.”
“A lake?” Khan prods, sounding like he knows, or more like he’s heard but doesn’t believe.
“A barrier,” I try a more acceptable definition. “Hidden by illusions. The Forge Century had stumbled through a passage, or were let through, and then trapped there.”
“And what else lies there?” he asks with minimal hesitation, sounding like he’s partially accepting what I’m saying, or is concerned enough for his people to keep pressing. “What does this barrier protect?”
“Technology like this,” Straker interrupts, putting her hand on the pommel of her sword. With her other hand, she picks up a piece of fruit, some type of plump apple. It shrivels in her fingers, then crumbles to dust. The warriors go tense, but their King just watches, like he’s only idly curious. Straker rubs the dried remains off her fingers, then picks up another apple. It doesn’t shrivel. She takes a bite out of it.
“You said it was like Eternal technology, only more powerful?” Khan summarizes, still sounding like he’s digesting all of this pretty easily.
“It had been kept safe across the Lake,” I take back the tale. “That sword, and two more like it, escaped their containment, came here, attached to hosts…”
“Infected them?” The specific choice of word is surprising, but it suggests that Khan is finally getting to his real concern. But it doesn’t feel like a general paranoia of mythical nanotech plagues. And his apparent familiarity with the subject tells me he either understands the technology or has been educated by someone who does. (His Science King?)
“The infection is person-specific, like the Eternals’,” Straker tries to reassure. “And I’ve since gained control over it. That’s why we crossed the Lake. The different devices needed to be together, interfaced, so that I could control it instead of it controlling me.”
“And this technology is more powerful than the Eternal’s because they come from the far future, a future that was prevented by the Burning?” His warriors and Siri close their eyes. Khan doesn’t. He keeps them on me.
“That’s what the ones who have this power say,” I give him what’s still the official story.
He glares at me like he knows I’m withholding what I really know, but then he finally disengages, turning away from me. He does look preoccupied.
“Thank you for your truth,” Khan amazingly allows. “My daughter told me the same, eventually. Her unwillingness to tell it speaks to fear, and she does not fear easily. It also speaks to her loyalty to you, so quickly earned.”
“The machines that have been attacking you, they are not of this kind of technology, but they are made by one who possesses it, and serve another who does,” my father partially reassures. “These beings cannot be harmed, except perhaps by Lieutenant Straker’s weapon. But we can destroy their factories, their resources, their bases…”
“I am not here about robots,” Khan interrupts. “I understand robots. And I understand how the Eternals have used their nano-machines to modify their bodies and connect to their Tools.”
He looks directly at Straker.
“I need you to come with me.” Then he looks at the rest of us. “And any other of you that think you understand technology that infects the living.”
Chapter 2: Harvester
Khan gets ample volunteers: Straker, Murphy, my father, the Ghaddar, myself, even Rashid.
He leads us quickly down-slope through a path on the southern side of the main colony, heading, I realize, toward the Gate Wall. He moves with purpose and urgency, not bothering to look back to ensure we’re keeping up—he counts on Negev and a squad’s worth of his warriors for the escorting. I look at Negev as we go—he looks nervous, uncomfortable, as if he’s afraid of something where we’re going.
I can only speculate. I’ve seen men and women turned in super humans by this technology, changed physically, even given new memories and identities. I’ve seen the technology consume living things to feed itself and the host body. I’ve seen it try to take over some of my friends. I’ve felt it try to take over me.
And I know it can do a lot more than that: it can remake the very world under our feet, and all of us with it.
And I know it can think it’s alive. True artificial intelligence.
Seen from this side, the Gate Wall is actually part o
f a plateau, either natural or constructed, that stretches across the canyon, so we’re on much higher ground inside than outside. From the outside, the Wall rises nearly twenty-five meters above the cleared defensive plain. It’s maybe fifteen to twenty meters thick, with only very narrow defensible (and probably collapsible) passes winding through it, and climbing up to the level of the open field that lies between the Wall and the Colony. The Wall on this side is only five meters high, with battlements cut into the top of it for hundreds of warriors defend from.
It’s a much more impressively engineered and crafted structure than the “wall” that partially protects the approach to the Pax Hold Keep, which is not much more than a pair of massive piles of rocks. This, on the other hand, looks like it’s been carefully cut from the existing geology in an incredible act of excavation and stonework.
Khan heads for a section of Wall on the south end, a spot that looks like it’s being guarded by a dozen warriors arranged in a rough circle. They each wear a small light canopy of painted material over their helmets, either as sun-screening or camouflage or both. As we get closer, we see that they’re actually standing around a roughly circular sheer-walled pit sunk into the rock. I also realize that one of them isn’t a warrior, it’s Terina. I see fear in her eyes when she looks up at me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Terina afraid of anything, and considering all we’ve been through…
The pit is about three meters across and five deep. Down in the bare dirt bottom is a single figure, dressed in what I immediately recognize is an Unmaker uniform, similar to Straker’s, except it doesn’t shift pixel patterns to match its surroundings like Straker’s can since it was Modded by her Blade. It’s just standard-issue UN soft armor, in the original Pre-Bang desert-camo scheme. It looks well-worn but well-cared-for, just as Straker’s did before her Blade restored and modified it. But the man wearing it…
The God Mars Book Five: Onryo Page 3