He’s defending me to Earthside—I know he’s been monitoring every transmission.
“This isn’t the first planet where I’ve had to convince my critics that I’m not the Antichrist,” I joke dryly. Then shift the subject: “What else are we likely to encounter, Doctor?” I specifically use his scholarly title instead of calling him “Council.”
“Assuming intelligence will avoid further tragedy…” he plays wryly, letting some of his humanity through the mask. He highlights the locations of the remaining colony sites in Coprates Chasma. There are nine blips on the model, spread in a rough zig-zag reaching two hundred miles east past Tranquility down the long canyon. There are also four ETE Stations on that stretch.
“The news isn’t good, Colonel,” Paul takes it. “Every site in this part of Marineris took catastrophic damage, if not from the bombs, then from their proximity to destabilized ridges. Melas’ open valley offered less shielding from blast shockwaves, but also less opportunity for miles of cliff to fall on you. Only two sites…” He points out two of the furthest east blips. “…Eureka and Liberty… still draw enough feed from our local lines to indicate survivor enclaves, but both sites are under a lot more rock than any of the self-buried ones like Shinkyo. And observation has shown even less sign of activity than any of the other hidden colonies. If they are thriving, they are certainly worse off than Tranquility or the PK.”
“The promising factor is that this part of Coprates is the deepest, and therefore the greenest,” Mark offers, making a small veining of deep canyons glow green. Four colony sites—Eureka, Liberty, Pax and Iving—sit in this region, as well as the east-most ETE Station (and the only one that sits within the valleys instead of on the periphery cliffs). “One of our technicians named this area the Vajra—the double-headed trident—because of the way it roughly forks at both ends.”
“This is our treasure, Colonel,” Paul tells me earnestly. “This is our Garden of Eden. We have set up a second layer of atmosphere nets. The conditions are very similar to the Andes Mountains. The agricultural hybrids from the colonies, as well as a few of our own specimens, have thrived there in the last few decades. The Vajra is a forest.”
“Perhaps a Forbidden Forest,” Mark says with pained seriousness. “Your Earthside would likely fear this place above all other regions, because the flora and fauna have been DNA-engineered and then allowed to evolve competitively.”
“Fauna?” Tru questions incredulously.
“Most ecosystems require a symbiotic relationship with animal life for plants to truly thrive,” Paul explains. “To this end, Pax had been working with insect life, mammals, birds, reptiles. Most specimens died during the harsh times that followed the Apocalypse. Others failed to adapt.”
“And those that did?” I have to ask.
“You have seen how your fellow man has adapted, Colonel,” Mark says, gesturing toward Sakina.
“We haven’t the expertise to manage zoological projects,” Paul excuses quickly, “so we have had nothing to do with anything beyond the atmosphere and the plant life. You would have to address this issue with the Pax, but I doubt they would be forthcoming.”
“You would likely be greeted worse than you were at Tranquility,” Mark warns evenly.
“The Pax?” Tru needs clarification.
“The Pax Colony survivors sought shelter in the heat shadow of our Station,” Paul tells us. “They tapped into our feeds, set up shelters, preserved their precious work. As the region greened, they were among the first to move away from our sites, to find a life in the new world. The Pax now maintain what resembles a medieval society, a system of feudal groups that live off the land, and band together for trade, marriage and mutual defense.”
“Defense?” it’s my turn to ask.
“The other colony sites were totally compromised,” Paul reminds us. “While Iving was totally devastated, the other sites—Tyr, Alchera, Nike, Concordia and Gagarin—managed similar survival protocols to the Pax, later splitting off into their own groups. We have lost touch with these groups, as they go to greater lengths to avoid even us, but they do skirmish for territory from time to time, and violently resist explorers from the West. They are not unlike history’s Native Americans.”
“And we’re the invading Europeans,” Tru muses darkly.
“As they do not draw resources from our feed lines, we have no way to monitor their activity,” Mark tells us.
“But here lies the critical issue, Colonel,” Paul presses. “These groups have adapted to the planet for three generations, more so than any group that still clings to colony, or even the Nomads who are forced to maintain technology for survival.”
“They won’t know us,” I accept. “Except as legendary monsters.”
“And you won’t know them,” Paul returns.
I flash on the “CROATOAN” we found carved into the wall at the abandoned Melas Three. A lost colony possibly gone native to the point of becoming totally alien...
“More dangerous by far,” Mark continues his paternal warning, “is that Tranquility represents an extremely localized group—they do not appear to stray far beyond their dome—these other groups range freely throughout the green zone, and defend it absolutely.”
“So do the Nomads in Melas,” Rios tries.
“The Nomads are limited by the environment,” Sakina corrects him.
“The Vajra will be like the inside of the Tranquility dome,” I agree, “only it’s hundreds of square miles.”
“Thousands,” Paul corrects my math.
We upload the model specs onto our Links for feed back to Earthside, then Paul invites us to stay for lunch. No sooner do we agree and walk away from the display that Paul has his Sphere in hand. My Link goes dead.
“Now that we have put on our performance, I was hoping we could speak candidly about more pressing issues,” Mark presents calmly.
“Blame the interference on moving through the Station,” Paul suggests. I give Rios a nod to reassure him we aren’t in any danger, and he nods back to let me know he’s game to pretend this conversation isn’t taking place. Tru gives me a similar nod.
“Do I want to know what happened to your face?” I ask Paul directly, talking as we walk to the lunch promised as an excuse for our delay.
“You need to know that we will not interfere on your behalf in the green zones,” he tells me intently.
“The Grand Experiment,” I try agreeing.
“Those people are truly free,” Tru corrects me. Paul nods.
“Earthside isn’t likely to ignore them, despite your presentation today,” I warn.
“We are hoping they learn their lessons in Melas well enough before deciding to proceed eastward into Coprates,” Mark puts it officiously.
“They haven’t yet,” I remind him.
“Which is why we give you this little meeting,” Paul offers.
“Do you think they will order you back to Tranquility?” Mark asks.
“That lesson may be learned, at least for the near future, but I expect we’ll need to bleed quite a bit more before they agree to keep their hands off your little garden, if ever.”
“Will you defy your orders?” Mark gets to the point. We have stopped at an elevator, so I can face him directly.
“The UNMAC I agreed to serve is fifty years gone,” I tell him. “I don’t know this UNMAC, or even this Earth. But I will do my job because it may bring my people relief, and because Earth is coming one way or another. We’ve had this discussion.”
“We had the discussion before Earth called and started ordering your people into harm’s way,” Mark counters calmly. “They also ordered you not to work with us. Would you defy that order?”
“Orders that general are open to interpretation,” I tell him, glancing at Rios to make sure he’s still on page. Rios grins at me. “What is it you’re asking?”
The elevator takes us to the bright sterile whiteness of the research hive.
“Let’s say we have dir
e need of your people skills,” Paul offers when his father doesn’t answer immediately.
“I know a lot of people who would find that very funny,” I tell him. Tru smiles. Rios bites his lip and stares at his boots.
We walk to one of their immaculate dining halls, where a veritable feast has been laid out for us. I wonder idly how much of the banquet is for the benefit of the viewers at home.
Before we sit, Mark brings up a tactical map of Melas Chasma over the table.
“The Zodangans and the PK have made multiple attempts against your Candor Link in the last few months,” Mark lets us know. “We have been good to our word in protecting your men and equipment, but we have had to deal with these factions up close. Our hope was that a show of power would be proactive, and that they would concede to cooperation. Instead, their response was more akin to our experience with the Shinkyo.”
He shows us snippets of video: Guardians under fire, weathering bombardment by grenades and rockets, ambushes, aircraft battered by missiles and swarms of pirate flyers. Weaponized ETE Spheres and Rods knocking away enemies, pushing dust storms over resisting fighters. And most discouraging, a shot of a section of the Industry “ruin” collapsing in the midst of a firefight.
“It would have been much worse if you had been forced to deal with them,” Paul tries.
“Fatalities?” I ask.
“Unknown,” Mark admits. “Our defensive measures damaged some of their structures. Some of their fighters likely succumbed to the environment if their gear was damaged, especially during the skirmishes beyond the atmosphere net. They have been consistent about recovering their casualties, so we have seen no confirmed dead.”
“Either not wanting you to know how badly you hurt them or afraid of what you might do with their bodies,” Sakina considers aloud.
“You have been effective in interceding in talks with other factions,” Mark pushes forward.
“Not so much,” I return, counting the Shinkyo, the PK and Zodanga as failures in this area.
“They will at least speak to you,” Paul tries. “They treat us like horrors.”
“And you’re thinking you’re now scarier than Earthside agents?” I ask.
“Their benevolent Jinn have suddenly gone Old Testament on them,” Tru considers.
“The lesser of two evils doesn’t necessarily make a good cornerstone for diplomacy,” I criticize.
“Will you help?” Paul presses like he didn’t hear me.
I smile at him.
“Buy me lunch. I’ll see if I’ve got some free time in my schedule.”
Paul smiles and nods, then works his Sphere to give us back our communications.
“Sorry for all the interference,” he offers innocently, playing his role. “We have dead zones throughout the facility. It looks like lunch is ready…”
4 April, 2116:
I watch the sand dance in small swirling devils (“small” being man-sized as these things go), shaped by solar heat and the lay of the land. I watched it lazily the last time I was here—it gave the place a haunted, ghost-town look, appropriate for the site of a colony playing dead. I keep my Link live, beaming the scene unedited (though with the unavoidable delay) across space, assuming I’ll have something more than shots of sand-devils and unresponsive ruins to send back to the eager viewers on Earth.
As agreed, the ETE keep their ships and their teams out of camera view, close enough to intervene if things go wrong, but otherwise invisible to those Earthside who remain uncomfortable of any cooperation (or even interaction) between us. The PK certainly know the ETE are here, but we still appear (and probably are) quite vulnerable, waiting just across the open plain from the Industry “ruin”, well under their guns.
The PK also knew to expect us, assuming they’ve been monitoring our messages back-and-forth, which included my “offer” to Earthside Command risk another try at negotiating with them. The fact that they don’t greet us with immediate gunfire is promising, though it may only indicate lessons learned from whatever clashes they’ve recently had with the ETE Guardians.
They leave us standing in the wind for ten minutes before we see what we didn’t see last time we were here: movement. Four ruddy man-shapes come up out of the rocky terrain somewhere between us and the visible colony (probably from a subterranean sally-port like the Shinkyo use), like they just walked up over rise, their number matching our own group. They begin walking toward us like they have nothing to fear.
With me I have Lieutenant Rios, Sergeant Horst and Sakina. (Tru again lobbied to come, but I insisted that the mission was far from safe despite ETE assurances.) I can hear Horst’s armor rattle and scrape slightly as he shifts his weight, hyper-vigilant. Rios feels more relaxed, having done this show before. Sakina is—as usual—still as a statue.
As they get closer, I can see that the four coming to meet us are all wearing standard Mars-camo LA uniforms, shrouded caps and masks—we could easily be from the same unit (and in fact we were, only fifty years ago). At the head of their group is a tall male carrying only a compact PDW worn as a sidearm, while the others carry light assault rifles. I see the eagle of a full colonel on the leader’s collar. I’m not at all surprised to read his nameplate.
“Colonel Samuel Janeway,” he introduces formally, giving me a brief sharp salute which I return. “City of Industry Peacekeeper Garrison.” He nods to indicate his companions. “This is Lieutenant Straker, and Sergeants Torres and Winn…” They give me a more respectful salute, actually holding it until I acknowledge them. Straker is maybe thirty, a hard-looking but not unattractive redhead, with what looks like a burn scar under the corner of her mouth. The sergeants look like teenagers, lean and clean and bright-eyed, posturing behind their weapons. They look like any other boots fresh off a shuttle—only their uniforms look worn, old, like the antique heirlooms they almost certainly are.
Janeway himself is maybe fifty, square-jawed, thin-lipped and narrow-eyed, his skin leathery but clear.
“You brought a pet, I see,” he bites before I can introduce my team, nodding toward Sakina (who manages not to kill him on the spot).
“I’d be easy with the insults, Colonel,” I warn him lightly. “This is the Zauba’a Ghaddar. If the tales are at all accurate, you’ve already met—she would be the one that leaves the squeamishly intimate calling card.”
I watch the sergeants get tense, grind their teeth. Janeway has his own flash of anger, but wipes it away in a blink and grins. Straker only eyes Sakina as if she’s sizing her up.
“You have interesting friends,” he allows icily.
“Some more interesting than others,” I suggest.
“I’m surprised your command even remotely tolerates your intimacy with those nano-contaminated freaks,” Janeway cuts again, now nodding to where he knows the ETE are watching from.
“You’ve been monitoring our communications. You know how Earthside feels about the situation here.”
“As much or as little as you do,” he fences. “You have to know they’re not giving you full disclosure, not remotely. You also know they’ll relieve you of command the second they manage to land their own boots on planet.”
“I’ve been unpopular before,” I counter lightly.
“Which is why you never made general,” he muses. “I’ve been reviewing your file, Colonel. The only reason you’ve kept your bird was your popularity with the masses. But then, this Earth isn’t that Earth anymore.”
“Trying to break our uplink won’t improve that relationship,” I refocus him. “Earth is coming back. I told you that the last time we had a chat. Only now we have a timeframe.”
“And now I have a better sense of the ground you stand on,” he reverses with a half-grin. “From what I can see, your position isn’t any better than mine, and may in fact be worse—you just haven’t accepted it yet. Or maybe you have and you just won’t say so out loud, especially with your new masters watching you so closely.” He taps his earjack to indicate he knows my Li
nk is recording this.
“I’m not here to talk about my position,” I try to redirect him, “I’m here to discuss yours.”
“My position is just fine as-is,” he says with his thin, lopsided grin. “I told you that last time. But now that you can see up close, do we look like we’re hurting for food or gear?”
“Your representative sample is impressive enough,” I give him halfway.
“I don’t starve my Civvies to feed my soldiers,” he insists evenly. I try reading his cadres’ eyes, but they keep stoic. “And no, I’m not letting you in to inspect. You’ll just have to trust me. It doesn’t take a nano-lab to make an indoor greenhouse. Just like it doesn’t take Earthside engineers to cobble together a centrifuge to keep our bones dense.”
“Impressive, assuming I’m taking your word for it,” I allow. “But I doubt Earthside will leave you be just because you don’t want anything from them. In fact, your self-sufficiency will probably draw their interest more than if you were scraping.”
“That’s funny,” he toys, “I was thinking they’d be more ‘interested’ in our weapons than our vegetable garden.”
“I won’t disagree,” I confirm.
“So what’s your grand plan, Colonel?” he presses. “We empty our hands and open our arms and fall in with you lot, to await the Happy Day when benevolent born-again Earth comes to save our poor lost souls?”
“I’d be happy with mutual non-aggression.”
“But your Earthside masters won’t be,” he criticizes. “And it’s our guns that are keeping them thinking twice about interfering with us, at least for now.”
“What about the long view?” I prod.
“You let me worry about that,” he resists.
“Not worried about how your attitude will go over with Earthside?” I push. His eyes go narrower and his jaw muscles flex under his mask.
“Look behind me, Colonel…” He jerks his head in the direction of the ruined colony dome. “My forefathers served proudly and got shipped over fifty million miles from home and family to bleed and choke and die in the dust defending this place when it was still an airless desert. What they got for their sacrifice was their home planet trying its best to murder them all—throwing nuclear weapons at you is a hard gesture to mistake for anything else. Yes, Colonel, I’ve been listening very closely to those transmissions from ‘home.’ It doesn’t sound like anything has changed where it counts—if anything, it’s worse. Speaking frankly, bowing to those chickenshit blue-planet fuckers and playing the dutiful pawn like you are is just too fucking expensive for any man born of Mars, and it isn’t worth anything at all in return to me and mine. We don’t want ‘relief’, and we don’t need help. This is our home, this is our land—we shed blood for it. If you’d wipe those fifty years of sleep-gunk out of your eyes, then took a look around and see what century you’re in now, then maybe it’d be you who’s throwing in with us. ”
The God Mars Book Two: Lost Worlds Page 9