Mars, The Bringer Of War

by George P. Saunders

  Even has he related his testimony of events three hundred thousand miles away, Mars was keenly aware of Anna’s presence, and thus, directed his focus solely to her. She was a young thirty five years old, tall, like himself, with a commanding face that for all its natural beauty, would not belie a massive intellect. Her eyes never deviated from his – she acted as if she could care less about the effect of Mars’ words were on her colleagues. She was his, wholly, without equivocation.

  Small wonder he had fallen in love with her.

  Sitting next to Anna was Chase Ravers, Head of Internal Affairs. He was also one of John Mars’ closest friends. It would be Ravers who would have to execute and prosecute the case of John Mars in earnest, depending on the determination of the Board this afternoon... should that determination rule unfavorably.

  John Mars continued to give his report.

  “It was definitely metallic. I do not believe the life form was organic in any respect."

  “Colonel Mars, why did you and your crew fail to activate your helmet cameras?” the Chairman asked.

  “The attack came suddenly, Chairman. We didn’t have time to turn on video.”

  The Chairman sighed, clearly not satisfied with testimony thus far. “Your physical failed to detect any penetration of your environment suit. You did say you were attacked."

  Mars stiffened. This was the most vulnerable part of his testimony. Well, Chairman, old lad, what happened was, you see, the fuckin’ fairies came into my room one night and made me all good again.

  Mars inhaled silently, then proceeded with his answer.

  “It shot me. I don't know with what, but I felt it. And for the record … it hurt like hell,” Mars said coolly, then added: “Sir.”

  Anna leaned forward and stared at Mars. Her love. The man she would one day marry.

  “Colonel, you’re aware of the findings of Columbia’s rescue mission?” she said evenly, a deliberate lack of warmth or prejudice in her voice. Christ, she was good, Mars marvelled.

  “Of course, Captain,” Mars replied neutrally. “They found very little that could substantiate my story.”

  Ravers leaned forward. “John, the salvage team found nothing up there. Just the Rover, wrecked and in pieces. No sign of anything – extraterrestrial.” He took a breath for emphasis. “Or should I say, alien, in nature.”

  “Damn it, we were attacked,” Mars snapped. “It killed my men, blew them apart -- right in front of me.”

  He was getting angry, the one thing he swore he wouldn’t do. He took a breath. Counted to ten. Thought of baby ducklings, peace on earth and fairy dust, then spoke again.

  “I can’t explain the lack of evidence. But believe me -- if there are more of those things in the neighborhood, we can all kiss it good-bye!”

  It was less than a professional summation, but Anna smiled inwardly. John Mars was not the kind of man anyone pushed around. He called things as he saw them, occasionally shooting from the hip. Rarely did he miss the mark.

  He might miss it today, Anna reminded herself glumly. The natives want blood, a target, a scapegoat, someone to blame. John Mars was ripe for the pickin’ and skinnin’ … yet, who else was there to blame, Anna found her mind rambling, her incisive commitment to the truth unable to vacillate in her love’s favor.

  Who indeed?

  Perhaps Mars had seen something akin to doubt in her eyes, because now he shifted his focus exclusively to the Chairman.

  The Chairman leaned back in his seat. He glanced at the members on the Board. No one had anything to add; John Mars, per regulation, had completed his testimony pursuant to the rules of standard post-mission debriefing protocol. Details of what transpired on the lunar surface had already been transcribed and were bound in hardcopy in front of each board-member.

  There was only one thing left to do. The Chairman was about to conclude the briefing, when Anna spoke.

  “Colonel Mars," she said carefully. "You maintain that whatever it was on the moon that attacked you was alien in nature. I would like to hear your opinion, from a military standpoint -"

  The Chairman interrupted Anna. “I don’t believe conjecture is relevant at this time.”

  “This Board’s responsibility is to asses Colonel Mars’ psychological and emotional state, as well as that of his mission profile. I believe his opinion on what took place up there is relevant and hardly conjectural in nature,” Anna said coolly.

  “Allegedly took place,” the Chairman corrected softly."

  The innuendo was damning … and Anna realized this was the last chance John Mars would be given at this phase of the investigation.

  “I'd like to hear more,” Anna said slowly.

  “You’ve read the transcripts, Captain,” Rene said, giving the Chairman an approving nod. “I don’t think rehashing --”

  “No,” Anna said flatly, standing. “I would like an answer to my question. It will be my last, but I believe it is germane to this investigation. And in light of the colonel's exemplary past military record to date, to exclude it from the record would be inappropriate.”

  The glove had been thrown. Politically, Anna had just slit her throat. From an administrative perspective, she would never be asked to sit on this Board again. Not that she cared to, anyway.

  Aye, the lassie’s done it now, Johnnie boy. All for you, too. All for you…

  John Mars remained impassive. Waiting. It seemed like continents could rise and fall in the span of time it took the remaining board-members to inhale and exhale. Rene grudgingly nodded for her to continue. "Very well. Ask your question."

  "Thank you," Anna said curtly, then turned back to Mars. "In your opinion, Colonel Mars, and based on your experiences in the field of combat, what do you believe was the purpose and intent of the alien presence on the moon? In other words, do you believe it was intentionally hostile to you and your men? Or do you believe it was simply responding to all of you as a perceived threat?"

  In this moment, he loved her more than ever. She had given him a moment of personal dignity. But he did not betray her with a smile. He took a moment himself before answering.

  “The anomalous signal has terminated. If nothing else, Columbia’s retrieval team should have located and identified, at least, that. It did not. The reasons for that have been explained in my report.”

  Mars made sure he connected with each member of the board, his gaze finally resting with Anna. “I -- don’t honestly know why the alien device was on the moon. But I do know, that if there is one -- there may very well be more. And I know something else.”

  The Chairman stared at John Mars and nodded. “Yes, Colonel?”

  Mars let another second pass. Then: “They aren’t friendly. Whoever built that thing -- they want us dead.” He looked back to Anna. "It killed without hesitation, without provocation. It was a weapon from the word go."

  Anna leaned forward. “Are you certain of that, John?”

  Mars looked her in the eye and nodded slowly. “I - can’t tell you how I know, but I do. They’re killers. Destruction is part of their nature. They like it.”

  The chairman chuckled humorlessly at this. "You actually inferred a an enjoyment factor from this so-called alien device, Colonel? How do you explain that? Clairvoyance?

  "Maybe," John said. "A sixth sense, if you will. I can't explain how, but I could feel that whatever life-forms created the robot were intrinsically malevolent. So, yes. I believe what we're dealing with is a potentially sociopathic species with an incredible technology. One, which if applied on an exponential level, would destroy this planet and every human being on it."

  Silence. Mars hoped his words were sinking in. As he listened to himself, a shiver went through his body. He was not really afraid up on the moon, aside from the initial few seconds when the alien robot appeared out of the sand; at the time, the need to survive had kicked in and recalled old and crucial training. But as he heard his own words today . . . he felt fear. A cold clammy fear, the kind he used to have as a
child when he went to bed and the closet door was left open, a black maw of darkness that beckoned to him from time to time when he had forgotten to close it before going to sleep.

  The kind of fear that the fairies really dig…the little motherfuckers…

  He hoped he was scaring the living hell out of the Board.

  The Chairman stood.

  “Thank you, Colonel. This Board will reconvene at 0900.”

  In the hall, Mars shoved a cigarette into his mouth. The Bay Windows in the Administration Building allowed a spectacular view of downtown Houston and of the moon, high above the Bank of America Building in the west, full, gleaming against the crystalline blue of the Texas sky. The crenellated visage stared back at him -- arrogantly, he thought. Taunting him.

  Gotcha, he could hear it say. You called me green cheese and I killed your men. Me and me fairy friends. How do you like that, Mars ol’ laddie, ol’ chum?

  Mars closed his eyes and felt his heart thunder inside him. He would go mad if he kept this up.

  Anna was suddenly there. Without looking at her he spoke in a low whisper.

  “Got a light?”

  She produced a lighter. The flame snapped into existence. He leaned forward, lit the fag, puffed. Irritated.

  “Why aren’t you in there deciding my fate?” he asked.

  Anna smiled. A sad smile. “I already gave them my vote.”

  As if it mattered, he thought.

  Mars regarded her coolly and took another drag from the cigarette.

  “They don’t believe me.”

  Anna sighed. “It’s -- a lot to swallow, John.”

  “And you?”

  “I believe -- something happened up there.”

  "Something," he said again. "But not what I said happened, right."

  Mars turned from her and she pursed her lips together. He was shaking his head now, looking up at the moon, his mortal enemy.

  “Fools. They’re gonna bury this, just as sure as hell.”

  This time, she took his hand in hers, and forced him to face her.

  “I’m more worried they’ll bury you,” Anna said.

  He gazed into her eyes, touched her face gently, yet his face remained hard.

  “Let them. It won’t change what’s really important.”

  “What’s more important than your career, John?” Anna asked. “What’s more important than us?

  Mars turned from her and again looked at the defiant moon glaring back at him like some gluttonous monster that fed on misery and despair.

  “Our survival as a species,” he said.

  "You really believe that?" Anna said.

  "They're coming," Mars replied. "Just as sure as shit, mark my words. And we'd better be ready."

  The Board took exactly thirty minutes to deliberate. John Mars was called in just after the noon hour. He remained standing as the ruling five took their seats.

  The Chairman leaned in, spoke to Rena for a second, who nodded, then looked at Mars.

  “Colonel Mars. It is the determination of this Board that, in light of your exemplary record, you shall be put on inactive status, pending further medical observation. Publicly, this will serve as an Honorary Discharge from NASA.”

  Mars didn’t blink an eye. It was the outcome he had grimly anticipated. The Chairman continued:

  “We’re happy that you made it back in one piece, Colonel. We will, of course, continue investigating the disappearance of your men -”

  “We’re going to have our butts kicked,” Mars interrupted. He let that hang for a second, then continued: “Maybe not today. Or tomorrow. But they’re out there. And now they know we’re here.”

  The Chairman folded his hands in a steeple, and blinked patiently.

  “Do you have anything further to add, Colonel Mars?”

  When John Mars replied, it was with genuine concern.

  “I wish I did. In any case, it seems no one is listening.”

  “In that case, you’re dismissed, sir,” the Chairman said.

  John Mars gave a smart salute, turned, and walked out of NASA forever.

  The press release announcing the retirement of John Mars from NASA came out two days later. It stated briefly that the colonel was still undergoing extensive physical therapy, as a result of his recent “accident” on the moon. A story was fabricated that his crew had died in a freak explosion of the lunar Rover -- an electrical anomaly which would take weeks to analyze, and many more months after that to disseminate the available data. Mars was hailed as a tragic hero. His retirement was voluntary. He needed time alone. For reflection, for recovery. To spend his convalescence among friends and loved ones.

  And on and on.

  He made calls to everyone. The Defense Department. The White House. Old friends, friends in the know, near the right people, powerful acquaintances. He didn’t give a damn about the press release, let them say what they will. He did give a damn about the imminent danger of belligerent alien forces in close proximity to Earth. But no one was listening.

  In fact, everyone was avoiding him like the plague.

  The word had been passed on through the highest levels. John Mars was persona non grata when it came to any discussion about his alleged encounter on the moon. Of course, NASA had ordered Mars himself to say nothing publicly about his supposed “contact” with aliens. It was a Presidential order at that. He had no problems with following orders; he did have problems with people he once trusted shunning him completely on the subject.

  It was eerie.

  Did everyone truly believe that he was either mad or had lied about the death of men? His record, military and within the NASA arena, had been spotlessly perfect. There was no reason to dismiss him, or his story, so completely out of hand. Yet, this is exactly what was happening.

  Mars persisted. Still, the channels of communication remained blocked, revoked, cut-off. One friend he did manage to speak with briefly was Chase Ravers and it was Ravers who brought the truth crashing home.

  "You're perceived as a crackpot, John," Ravers said. "Space happy. You're finished, capiche?"

  At some level, Mars was thunderstruck. Perhaps just because Ravers had articulated his darkest fears about what he himself suspected. "So," he said softly. "I'm supposed to just fade away and that's that."

  "Take a vacation, John," Ravers sighed. "For all of our sakes." And then he hung up.

  Mars continued to pound at a few doors, but with an increasing sense of resignation. After several weeks of largely unsuccessful attempts to set up meetings with Senators, the Vice President, a few old pal Generals, and even the President himself, Mars surrendered. He had been given a Presidential gag order -- but not only that, no one would listen to him within the normal circles of security clearance he once effortlessly moved within. He assumed that this was a kind of collective ostracism … a tacit punishment for coming home alive, without a crew, filled with wild fantasy stories about space aliens.

  And so, he made a decision.

  To hell with them all, he thought.

  On the one month anniversary of his return from the moon, Mars flew to Baja, California for an open ended sabbatical. Anna went with him. He began to drink. Cabo San Lucas had been a favorite hideaway for both Mars and Anna for over twenty years, together and when they were single. At the very tip of Baja, it was still, here in the first decade of the twenty-first century, fairly remote and un-Americanized. It was a terrific watering hole; the streets fairly flowed with Tequila and cold beer and the weather, barring an occasional hurricane now and then, was sensational.

  His drinking went from heavy to stinking, piss-faced ugly. It stayed that way. Beer was no longer his daily mainstay. Tequila became the drink of choice. Morning. Noon. Night. Then one more time, the next day, the same, and the same after that.

  Anna grew weary. A new assignment beckoned for her; one which involved the newly constructed and second international space station Freedom. She was a candidate for Project Commander of the station. She as
ked Mars to return with her to the states.

  "Return to what?" he asked one day, tossing an empty bottle of tequila into the trash, cracking another one open in one fluid motion.

  "Return to what we originally planned," Anna said forcefully. "A life together. A life with a future. A life with me."

  "You're about to be given a helluva job, darlin'" Mars said with clear envy. "First woman commander in the history of the space program. Quite a goddamned honor, I'd say. Still think that command would be offered if you announced your intention to marry me?"

  "It wouldn't make a damn bit of difference," Anna replied testily. "My record --"

  "-- is perfect," Mars said softly. "So far. You annex your career and life with me at this point in time, and I guarantee you, Freedom goes to someone else. Care to risk that?"

  Anna let that sink in, but she wouldn't be baited by Mars at this stage of the game. He got argumentative when he drank, and lately, he was drinking a lot and prone to bitching profusely about anything and everything.

  "Yes, I would," Anna tested him. "For us."

  Mars looked at her for a moment, then killed a shot of tequila directly from the bottle. "Very noble of you, my dear. And thank you. But I won't let you throw everything away by marrying me."

  "That sounds like a cop out," she said angrily.

  "Call it what you will," he said, and turned to head out the door which lead to the beach.

  "Come back with me," she said, softening. "Please."

  He stopped walking and looked out at the deep blue waters of the Sea of Cortez. “There’s nothing for me back there,” he said at last. And it was true.