Hand of Raziel (Daughter of Mars Book 1)

by Matthew S. Cox

  Close call. That’s all it was. Garrison lied. Daddy was a spy. You just had your whole life pulled out from under you, again. No big deal.

  She stared at her hands until they stopped shaking. Fear or anger, she couldn’t tell.

  Clattering migrated along the corridor outside. Risa turned her head, peering past a cluster of inch-thick cables connecting the back of the thrumming machinery to the wall. Two plastic cups and an empty, dented autoinjector had settled on them, no doubt after falling from the top. Orange and green light flickered, pushing the shadow of cables toward her in rhythmic pulses.

  The person outside wasn’t Pavo. They kept going. Somewhere in the distance, a girl shrieked with ecstatic moans. Whoever ‘Andar’ was, he seemed to be getting his money’s worth.

  Risa stared at the three pieces of trash nestled in the wiring like insects in a spider’s web. It struck her as a metaphor for her life: something small and insignificant slipped out of sight and lost to the cracks. Part of her wanted to let out all the tension from her almost-arrest and sob. Alone in a dark room behind a locked door and an atmospheric purifier unit was about as safe as she could hope to be without crawling a mile underground in a vent shaft.

  Red pulsating light flared six times. Risa smirked. Gee-ball must be playing on the holo, and someone just scored. She wrapped her arms around her legs and huddled against the air scrubber. Exhaustion dueled with anxiety, teasing her with twenty-second micro naps. In her sleepy state, scenes tormented her whenever consciousness slipped. Military police escorted her in chains to an execution chamber at the end of a long, hospital-green hallway, tilted and twisting. Would they have given her a lethal injection or a firing squad?

  A metal door, old and with a spinning wheel at its center, moved to reveal blinding light.

  In her dream, she thrashed against straps holding her to a table. Oversized, warped figures in smocks part way between military and medical loomed over her. Her screams grew higher in pitch as their skin reddened and horns burst through their thin, white caps. The lead ‘doctor,’ approaching twelve feet tall, bent over her. His surgical mask ignited and burned off in a foul, sulphurous breath, exposing charred bone beneath. Eyes flaring, he held one arm aloft, clutching a black autoinjector with a bright neon lime skull and crossbones on it. She squirmed, but couldn’t get away from the device creeping toward her chest. The medic’s scrubs darkened toward green and sprouted camouflage blobs. Helpless, Risa stared at the tip as it crept closer and closer. When she looked at herself, at her flat chest, it hit her they were not giants.

  She was a little girl.

  Her shrieking faded to a gurgle as the gargantuan air-hypo flooded her tiny body with so much venom it bubbled up out of her mouth. Gagging, drowning, and immobilized, her beating heart grew deafening.

  Risa snapped out of the dream, fumbling her pistol. She picked it up and scooted tighter against the wall, coughing away the sour nastiness of the dream poison. They did kill me already. Tears flowed despite her protest, accompanied by a dour frown rather than blubbering.

  Wham, wham, wham.

  She jumped, whirling to the right and peering through the gap behind the air purifier at the front door. The heavy knock sounded like a softer version of her nightmare heartbeat. The pounding had woken her out of the dream. Her hands shifted on the Hotaru-6, changing from the clutch of a security blanket to the hold of a practiced shooter.

  Two beeps chimed from the security panel as the door slid open to the side, exposing an empty hallway coated in red dust. Risa’s index finger teased the smooth plastic trigger. She aimed, waiting for any sign of motion. Never again would she surrender to the authorities. No kangaroo court, no public relations sweep, no months and months of sitting in a cage waiting to die.

  No, she would go out on her feet and take as many with her as she could.

  “Risa?” whispered Pavo.

  Fatal resolve collapsed into a rush of emotion: joy, relief, worry, and fear. She wanted to speak but couldn’t.

  A small plastic wand poked around the corner, tipped with a white glowing dot. It bent back and forth like a tentacle-mounted eye, until it pointed at her.

  “Please don’t shoot me,” said Pavo.

  The optic wire retreated, and he peeked around the entrance. When Risa lowered her weapon, he walked in and shut the door. She sat motionless, staring mute as he crossed the room. Her body reacted on its own to his approach, huddling tighter in a ball. He seemed to fight the urge to give her a pitying look, and raised both eyebrows.

  “You don’t look so all right.”

  Risa got the pistol into its harness without firing it by accident, and managed a nod. Her voice continued to elude her. Warmth spread across her cheeks with a blush, and embarrassment at being caught hiding got her upright. Pavo pulled her into an embrace as soon as she stood.

  “Sorry,” she squeaked.

  “Now you’re scaring me.” He patted her back. “I’ve never seen you like this.”

  She held on to him for several minutes before settling down off tiptoe and stepping back. “It’s all a lie.”

  “What is?”

  “Everything.” She folded her arms, walking to the holo-bar. “It’s all a goddamned lie.”

  He pivoted to keep facing her. She swiped a finger over the mirror-finished plastic, cutting off the Gee-ball game. The holographic screen collapsed in on itself, swallowing the image of a gyrating red yeti mascot and plunging the room into darkness. Her cybereyes auto-switched to night vision.

  “Lights.”

  The room lights flickered on.

  “Not a fan of the Manglers?” Pavo chuckled.

  Risa kept her back to him. “I never got into sports.”

  Pavo approached, circling his arms around her from behind. “Right. Too busy hunting for food and trying not to get dead.”

  “I don’t need sympathy.” She leaned into him. “I’m trying to deal with how close I came… and I… bad dream.”

  “There’s no shame in being afraid.” His breath warmed her cheek. “You’re always so in control of yourself, some of the others think you’re a synthetic. I get to see the real person inside.”

  “Everett said my father was ACC. He had files. Too many files to whip up only to fake me out.” Risa stared at the floor, her voice an emotionless drone. “My mother was an intelligence agent trying to turn him. He killed her when she broke cover too soon. She’d fallen in love with him and wanted him to defect.”

  He held her tight, pressing his cheek against her head. “But he was dedicated to his mission.”

  She swallowed.

  “The general told you your father had nothing to do with the Front.”

  “Yes. If it’s true, everything Garrison said is a lie.” Risa squirmed around to look him in the eye. “I’ve been fighting for the MLF based on dustblow. I… Have I thrown my life away?”

  Pavo slid his arms out from around her and held her hand. He stared at her for a long moment before exhaling. “What we stand for, our calling, is to free hundreds of thousands of people from tyranny. Whatever the truth about your father, it doesn’t make our goal any less worthy.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “They used my anger.”

  “Garrison shouldn’t have manipulated you, assuming what Everett said can be trusted. Honestly, if it were me? It would take some of the pain out of his death to learn he was with the Corporates. As bad as the UCF can be, the ACC is many times worse. Yes, it’s awful your father died, but now you know he wasn’t betrayed by his own military.”

  She wandered to the bed and sat on the end. “The ACC doesn’t put on a nice face and act like there’s traces of democracy left in the system. Their citizens know exactly where they stand.”

  Pavo shook his head. “Yes, but they treat them like cattle. Someone complains about their job, they fire them and hire any one of two hundred commoners desperate for the tiniest opportunity to eke upward. You can’t tell me that people here, on the UCF side, don’t have it bett
er―not that I’m saying we’re wrong about wanting to be rid of both, but I’d find it easier knowing he was a foreign agent and wasn’t killed by traitors.”

  “Aren’t we traitors too?” She leaned against him when he sat next to her.

  “Centuries ago―”

  “You’re going to compare us to the American Revolution?”

  Pavo chuckled. “So you did have some schooling.”

  “Oh, yes.” Risa rolled her eyes. “Bits and pieces, especially that. Garrison loved that part of history. He thinks our situation is a complete parallel of it with Earth in place of Britain. Now that I look back on it, it seems like cherry picking.”

  “Well, look at the similarities. Mars is governed by people who live millions of miles away and have no idea what it’s like up here. Our conflict is the same, just on a larger scale. Planets instead of nations.”

  Risa thought about being little again, with Garrison hovering over her as she read ‘history.’ “Do you think it’s true?”

  “About your father?” Pavo offered a weak shrug. “Government’s involved. The weave of deceit is so thick it’s hard to tell what’s real and what’s not anymore. If the dustblow gets too deep, at some point, it probably turns back into truth. Sometimes I’m not sure this is even really Mars. Maybe we’re all asleep in tanks, plugged into VR.”

  “That’s not even funny.” She twisted and grabbed his coat in both hands, shaking him. “I have to know.”

  He held her fists, holding her tight to his chest. “Risa… wanting to know is what almost got you killed. What will it change? I’m sorry, but your father is dead either way.”

  “I…” Text danced around his head as she locked eyes: his heart rate, perspiration levels, blush response: sincerity. She could no longer hold back the need to cry and hated her traitorous body for its reaction to an untenable situation. But she had no one to get angry at anymore. Killing, setting off bombs, hiding―none of those options could soothe her torn emotions. She flung herself against him, clinging as she struggled to get control of herself.

  Pavo held her without saying a word.

  Risa sniffled and attempted to chuckle a few minutes later. “I haven’t cried like this since I was small. It’s embarrassing. I can’t stop.” She sucked in a hissing breath. “I feel so helpless.”

  He put an arm around her back. “Sounds like you’re about due to let some of it out.”

  “I need to know.” She wiped her face. “I just do. I’m no one’s pawn.”

  Pavo exhaled. “I’ll see what I can find. I want you to lay low for a while until this blows over.”

  Her head snapped up. She glared. I’m not helpless. “I…” Don’t want to die. Her gaze fell. “Okay. Are we doing the right thing?”

  “You laying low?” He cocked his head to the side.

  “The Front.”

  He studied the ceiling for some time. Whatever thoughts slid back and forth within his brain manifested in a series of contrasting facial expressions. “Thousands of us have already died for independence. If we walk away now, all that life would have been wasted. The people of Mars deserve to govern themselves. If anything, what you’ve learned should keep you alive. Maybe you won’t take such pointless risks anymore.”

  “I’m not sure I should believe it… How could Garrison―” She jumped to her feet, shouting at the wall. “Raziel! I know you’re there. I want the truth.”

  Silence.

  Pavo pursed his lips and examined the rug.

  “Dammit. Please, Raziel.” She spun in a circle, staring at the walls. The look Pavo gave her stalled her in place. “You know I’m not Cat-6. He’s real. He knows!” Risa yelled straight up. “You know. Tell me!”

  Yes, I know.

  She grabbed her head in both arms and fell to her knees, shuddering. The angel’s voice cascaded down her back as though boiling water poured over her head. Forcing her way past the muscle-cramping pain, Risa crawled to the bed and grabbed on. Pavo pulled her up.

  “T-tell me, Raziel… Is Everett right? Was m-my father―”

  What Everett told you is true. I had hoped you would abandon your search… I felt it kinder you didn’t know.

  Tears streamed down her cheeks. “You knew? You knew the whole time.”

  In the years I have spoken to you, have I once led you astray?

  Her forehead mushed a dent into the Comforgel pad. Convulsions rocked her body. Pavo squeezed her shoulder, attempting to help as much as he could.

  “No… but you should have told me.”

  Innocent people need your help, Risa. The Front is not one woman or one man. It is a collection of ideals. One person can make a difference. Your destiny is carved of red stone, whether you embrace it or flee from it. You can rise above your past.

  “What if I don’t want to?” She sniffled. “What if I just want to be happy?”

  Can you truly be happy while others suffer?

  Pavo lifted her into his lap. He seemed alarmed at feeling her tremble. She ducked away from his hand when he attempted to thumb her eyes open.

  “I’m fine… it’s Raziel. He’s an angel. Overwhelming.” She wheezed through the burn. “Besides, my eyes are electronic. Why are you checking pupil dilation?”

  He laughed.

  Involuntary muscle contractions lessened and she sagged limp. Pavo’s grip kept her from rolling onto the floor. Silent minutes passed; she lacked the energy to move and he the inclination.

  “What did he say this time?” asked Pavo.

  All trace of sorrow left her voice. “Everett wasn’t lying. It’s true.”

  “I’m sorry, Risa.” He kissed her forehead.

  She leaned up, seeking a proper kiss. When they pulled apart, she gave him contented half-closed eyes.

  “What now? Back to the safehouse?”

  “Yes, eventually.” She shrugged out of her holster harness, letting it dangle from a fingertip before it hit the floor. “I need to discuss a few things with Garrison, but it can wait.”

  “Not here.” Pavo picked up her weapons and pressed them into her chest. “You deserve better than this rat hole. Would you like to accompany me to dinner first?”

  So normal. “Yes.” She threw on the harness and grabbed her coat.

  “Anything in particular?” He winked.

  She took three steps for the door. “I’m not in the mood for Japanese.”

  espite General Maris insisting the nearby vent shafts be secured, the challenge of traversing the maze of the sensors, stunners, and physical barriers always offered a certain meditative calm. Like the old veteran who builds model starships inside water cooler bottles, Risa found it soothing. The poor sod who had to rewire the whole thing afterwards seldom shared her enthusiasm. Tromping into the safe house via the front door felt like a bizarre breach of some unspoken protocol.

  She did not wish to lose the two hours a quiet entry would cost her. Kali and Lancaster at the front gate looked at her as though she’d come back from the dead. Her approach out in the open probably set their minds racing to figure out what had pissed her off. Neither spoke as she slipped through the small gap in a blast door covered in scrawled graffiti. By the time she’d made it halfway down the main entrance corridor, word had gone on ahead, bringing a standstill to the usual din. She stopped and listened for a moment, trying to eavesdrop on whatever distant murmurings leaked between the whirrs of two portable turrets panning back and forth.

  Risa traced her fingers along the contour of the feed tube linking an ammunition drum to the mechanism of the tripod-mounted 12.5mm machine gun on her left, a common civilian-legal defense turret sold to numerous corporations. Ballistic weapons were cheap, plus anyone likely to assault this place in earnest would be covered in body armor designed for energy weapons. Soldiers for both sides hated carrying ballistic ammunition when they had access to e-mags.

  When the muttered betting over who she was about to kill gave way to curious silence, she peeled her attention away from the robotic weap
on and stormed the rest of the way down the hall, around stacks of random boxes and bundles of exposed wires hanging from the ceiling. The stink of silicon tainted the air, evidence of a short circuit somewhere in the walls that, given the clutter, likely continued to elude the repair workers who were nowhere to be seen.

  Fog wafted from the grating underfoot, a leak in the atmospheric hydration system that had gone on since she was little. No one had bothered to repair it in sixteen years since moisture still got into the air, albeit not quite according to design. Risa swiped her hand through a cloud as she walked past it, remembering Osebi trying to convince her ten-year-old self they were ghosts.

  The corridor ended at a fifteen-foot-wide walkway ringing the central chamber. She moved straight from the corridor to the edge and leaned on the railing. Two stories down, Garrison and four lieutenants huddled around the holo-map table.

  Intense light painted them blue and shadowed their backs. A monochromatic chunk of Martian terrain, complete with an installation, rotated in slow motion between them. Red-highlighted vehicles approached from one side, precipitating an animated firefight between emplacement turrets and theoretical troops. Numbers hovering above the ingot of ground identified this as the fifty-fourth iteration of a combat algorithm.

  Everyone else in sight, some twenty or so warm bodies, had dropped whatever they were doing to watch her. Her silent presence and hard expression pulled all attention away from the miniature battle sim.

  Some of the kids from the mineshaft ran around the far side of the command area. Kree, the youngest girl, chased the others with her hands held out like claws. The boys, and one older girl, acted afraid of her. Their mock fight entered from the corridor leading to the garage and disappeared into the tunnel leading to Death Row. No one other than Risa paid them any mind.

  She pushed off the railing and sauntered down the curved metal staircase, eyes fixed on Garrison. Three paces covered a stretch of exposed rock strewn with ribbed cabling before she stepped up onto the raised plastisteel plate flooring of their operations control center. Garrison turned at the clank of her boot, giving her the same sort of expression a man might give a woman who’d slapped him without provocation.