I send General Richards my latest status report after breakfast.
“Sergeant Thomasen has managed to repair most of the bunker reinforcement damaged by the Zodangan attack with local materials. We’re all sealed and hard again. He also finally got Main Battery Three partially online by scavenging parts from the other systems. My larger concern is that Melas Three still has no big battery guns, since everything was either stripped by the slide, or more likely sometime after by the crew or scavengers since we still haven’t found debris in the slide mass around the base to account for those guns. Luckily, Melas Three seems to be beyond the pirates’ range or comfort zone, and the anti-personnel batteries we’ve set up should continue to discourage the local Nomads, assuming they get past the ETE patrols. In any case, we still have had no further incursion attempts on either site since the Zodangan incident.
“We continue to hold the eleven Zodangans that were left behind in the makeshift brig we cobbled out of that old AAV module. Doctor Halley has cleared them all medically—they’ve healed. Her exams indicate that they do all suffer from developmental signs indicative of living at very high altitude, and they show skin and retinal damage from UV—I’m sending along her reports. Several of them have melanomas, though mostly benign growths, likely from background radiation. They still refuse to talk to us at all, despite patching and feeding them. Monitored conversation among them is minimal, and exclusively in that garbled slang they speak. Mostly they just tell each other to keep strong and wait us out because Zodanga apparently still is the sky. Their gear is all scavenged and patched together from perhaps a half-dozen colony sites, and a few have bits of UNMAC equipment. Morales took a look over the gliders we shot down: Like the last batch, the materials are mostly new manufacture, so they must have some way to spin out basic nano-weave materials from local resources in significant quantities. It isn’t fancy, but it’s enough to build effective light airframes. It’s likely how they were able to put together a second Dutchman-class airship in a short time, assuming they didn’t already have it in reserve. It also explains how expendably they treat their small gliders.
“I’d like the UN to consider authorizing their release. The prisoners do represent an extra burden on our resources, and I feel that releasing them would pose no significant additional threat. Also, they may deliver news about how quickly we recovered from their actions, which may help discourage future attacks.
“On that note, our greenhouse is also back to where it was before they shot it up. The naturalized plants are resilient, and with our extra care are incredibly productive. Ms. Greenlove estimates if we had the resources to expand the current facilities by a factor of twenty, we could feed the estimated population of the planet. Unfortunately, even with the materials, we’ve pretty well proven we couldn’t adequately defend such an enterprise.
“We continue our regular recons into Coprates, though we are still greatly range-limited. I am sending you all of our latest survey data. Sadly, the colony sites of Tyr, Nike, Gagarin and Concordia appear completely stripped and abandoned. The only condolence is the stripping indicates some group or groups have been active there, though we’ve seen no more sign of human life in Coprates since we encountered the people at Tranquility.”
I have to pause then, taking a breath to re-compose myself. We’ve been sending flights out every few days as our battered and patchwork aircraft can manage, flying past the site where we lost Regev and Wasserman, and we’ve found no sign of human life other than the stripped ruins of once-thriving colonies. The spreading greenery we continue to survey is little consolation.
“As a final note, our flights have detected a small electromagnetic anomaly approximately one hundred and fifty miles east of here, in the valley floor between Tranquility and the Tyr ruin. Imaging shows a small impact crater. It doesn’t match the inventory of known supply drops you’d sent us. If you could analyze the data and get back to us, we could give the site a closer look if it warrants—there appear to be no local threats.
“Signing off from Mars. Message ends.”
I get a message back before lunch, which is sooner than usually expected given how many agencies must mull over every word sent and received. Most of it is positive: Richards confirms the dozen supply rockets launched over the last week appear to be successfully on course, and should be arriving as calculated in mid-January. The manifests he’d sent indicate impressive caches of foodstuffs, medical supplies, weapons and ammo. Two late additions include parts to replace a number of our battery guns, but perhaps even more welcome will be the parcels containing new food and water recycling tech. The people of Earth have been generous—there will be food and gear to spread around—but they’re also being cautious considering how much payload is being devoted to re-arming us.
He also reports that the first larger manned missions have been cleared for launch within six weeks. These flights will include a brace of new aircraft for field testing and almost a hundred skilled volunteers—scientists, physicians, pilots, engineers—willing to risk the possibility that the quarantine may not be lifted any time soon. I find this encouraging until I see that Colonel Burns is on the list as mission commander, which makes me consider the likelihood his true mission is to replace me as planetary CO. I find I am still ambivalent about this possibility; while I’m certainly not planning to serve in my current post indefinitely, I was hoping to turn the command over to Matthew or Lisa, not someone sent to fulfill a UNMAC (or more accurately UNCORT) agenda. But then, that was exactly why I was sent here in ’58. And Matthew will not likely be fit to command for very much longer.
That leaves Lisa, and while I have full confidence in her ability to not only command but to take the planet toward something resembling a mutually beneficial peace, I find I still do care for her enough not to wish the politics on her. And I realize that she might never be offered the promotion simply because of her history with me.
Richards then blindsides me by changing the subject entirely:
Apparently someone back Earthside has taken keen interest in the EM ghost we picked up east of Tranquility. Richards does his best to play it down as routine, but he passes along an order to get boots on the ground, secure the site and find out what’s there that’s hot enough to trigger our instruments.
He makes no attempt to give more of a rationale for the mission.
17 June, 2116:
Two ASVs lift as soon as the frost melts off in the morning. I send two full H-A squads for security, even though the site in question is almost fifty miles from any of the old colonies, and relatively out in the open in a crater on the Coprates floor. The rest of the crew includes Thomasen and a digging crew, complete with a light tractor, and Anton, who insisted one science chief be present despite the potential risks of working in unknown territory. I agree because there has been no sign of life on the last two flyovers, and the radiation levels are far from dangerous. I also want to get the best idea why UNMAC Earthside is so interested in what’s buried in a crater in the middle of nowhere.
“You sure you don’t want more guns and less geeks on this first look?” Matthew asks pointlessly as we watch the aircraft raise dust as they jet east. I’ve noticed he’s been trying to keep from coughing in my presence, and he forces his posture strong when he sees me coming. If he’s looking pale, he blames it on the lack of real coffee or the gastrointestinal effects of the Eco gardeners’ latest “local grown” recipe. He still hasn’t admitted to me that he’s got terminal cancer. And I still haven’t told him about Paul’s offer.
“If it’s going to be bad, I’d expect backup is already coming,” I tell him.
“Colonel,” Kastl lets me know way too soon, pointing out the radar blip MAI is tracking, incoming from the direction of the ETE Blue Station. MAI gives a projection that Metzger confirms: the ETE ship isn’t heading here, they’re shadowing our flight into Coprates.
“I don’t think we’re looking for some lost probe,” Matthew shoots down one of the specul
ated causes for the EM signature we’re going to dig up.
“It’s not hot enough to be a dud warhead,” I remind.
“So what aren’t they telling us?”
“Earthside or our local friends?” I clarify. He gives me a shrug.
“Let’s ask,” I decide. But my Link call on the ETE channel gets picked up by Paul, not by his father. The background behind him is the bulkhead of their refitted AAV. I can hear the signature thrumming of their “engines” in the background.
“Good morning, Colonel Ram,” he greets formally, his tone unusually flat.
“What are we flying into, Paul?” I ask directly.
“Unknown, Colonel,” he tells me mechanically. “My orders are to provide protection for your mission.”
“Protection from what?”
“That is not specified in our assignment.”
“No personal curiosity as to what we’ll find?” I know his people have monitored every communication about this anomaly, but I also expect they already know more about whatever’s causing it than they’re saying. But if it was their own tech, or something they knew was dangerous, I expect they’d try to stop us, or at least warn us away. Something doesn’t make sense.
“I am always curious, Colonel. But I have my orders: Protect and observe.” His voice keeps flat, telling me that something has been kept from him as well, something he can’t discuss over an open channel. I do notice he used the word “observe” in addition to providing us protection.
“Hopefully we won’t be needing protection,” I allow him, then sign off.
“That was creepy,” Matthew comments.
“Captain Metzger,” I order, “have Lieutenant Smith prepare the Lancer and stand by.”
It takes an hour-and-a-half to get to the site, a small crater roughly centered in the valley floor. The ASVs take one wide circle to look for any sign of movement or heat that could indicate human presence, but there’s nothing, not even footprints in the sand. The terrain is open for at least a thousand yards in any direction, dotted with scrubby grain-grass and nut-bearing shrubs. Despite the edible bounty, the nearest tapsite is almost fifty miles away, and there’s no sign of significant groundwater for dozens of miles.
The ASVs set down on either side of the crater, which is about seventy-five meters across and less than twenty deep. It looks old, likely a meteor impact rather than anything manmade, and the bowl is full of sand and gravel.
We get our first useful report after Thomasen gets his crew poking around in that sand and rock.
“There is sign of recent disturbance here,” he narrates. “Recent in terms of decades, likely from the bombardment fifty years ago. The material in the crater looks like it was blown in from a blast shockwave. It hasn’t been disturbed by anything other than wind and what seems to pass for rain out here since. If anything’s buried in here, it’s been buried since the Apocalypse.”
“How deep are we talking?” I ask. It takes a few more minutes to get an answer.
“Reads like about a meter and a half, maybe more,” Anton scans, standing roughly dead center on the depression. “I’d do a seismic, but I’m afraid I might damage whatever it is.”
“My crew is ready to dig,” Thomasen tells me, sounding eager.
“No sign of company,” Horst tell me from his position on the crater rim. “Except for the Power Rangers, of course.”
On his feed, I watch the ETE ship ease down on the valley floor, a few hundred yards from the crater.
“Dig,” I tell them. “But carefully. I don’t want whatever this is exploding in your faces.”
I send a nothing update out to Earthside while they work.
It takes them an hour the get the bulk of the sediment scooped away. They create a new crater within the crater, over four meters wide.
“It’s not big, and it’s not dense,” Anton manages while there’s still a foot or so of Mars between them and whatever they’re digging toward. “Maybe two meters in diameter. I read metal, but no dense alloys. And whatever power it’s putting out is barely making noise.”
“Just enough to attract us?” I consider the suspicious.
“It’s not a beacon,” Anton counters, not picking up on my concern. “More likely a power source that hasn’t discharged in all this time.”
“Does MAI recognize it?” I ask Kastl.
“Negative,” he answers. “But there has been a lot of file corruption.”
“Earthside would recognize it,” Matthew suggests offline, “assuming it’s something we’ve encountered before, or something they sent.”
“If it is, then they’re not ready to advertise it yet,” I consider, hoping it’s just the lack of security in our interplanetary communications that’s preventing their candor.
“Paul?” I call up the Link to the ETE ship. “You’ve been observing. Any new orders come your way?”
“None, Colonel.” But I hear the slightest nervous edge under his monotone. “But if you’d like, we could observe closer.”
“Please do,” I tell him after considering it for a few seconds.
I watch two blue sealsuits leave their ship and walk over to the crater, then gingerly skip down into it. Horst gives them space. They stop at the edge of our dig.
“Colonel,” Paul comes back on after a few moments of looking down into the hole, “our tools might be able to clear the rest of the dirt away more gently than your shovels.”
“Any sense we might have an explosion if we don’t do this right?” I ask.
“No telling,” he admits. “You might want to pull your own people back.”
“Earthside isn’t going to appreciate it if we let the ETE touch this thing first, whatever it is,” Matthew cautions. “I doubt they’ll like them being this close.”
“They also told me to make strategic use of them if it didn’t compromise us in any critical way,” I remind him. “And since no one is telling us whether this is important or just interesting junk, I’d rather not get anyone hurt for Earthside’s pride.”
I tell Anton and Thomasen to get back to the crater rim, then give Paul my blessing to do his thing. The two sealsuits draw their Rods and wield them like artist brushes, and dust blows up out of the hole. They aren’t sending me video, so all I can see is what my own men see.
The blowing stops after perhaps a minute, and then I get only silence.
“Paul?” I ask for some kind of report.
“Get your people back, Colonel,” he tells me gravely. “Get them in their ships. Get some distance from this place. Right now.”
“What is it, Paul?” I insist. He doesn’t answer me.
“Horst, get us a look,” Matthew orders against Paul’s advice, not willing to just give up the find to the ETE. At least the ETE don’t make any attempt to stop us.
The dust is still clearing when I get a video shot down into the hole. The first thing I see is through the haze is the chrome helmets of the two Guardians, standing on either side of something roughly round and gray. Their blue suits have been dusted with the rust of what they’ve blown up, and there’s still a lot of sand and gravel, but Horst finally gets me a good shot of what they’ve dug up.
“Oh holy shit…” Horst mutters into his Link.
It’s the familiar geometric facetted saucer of a Disc drone. An intact Disc drone.
“Holy shit it would be…” Matthew breathes.
I take Paul’s advice and order my men and ships back to what may or may not be a safe distance, though Anton successfully convinces me he should stay with Paul and Simon (the other ETE who was in the hole), close enough to keep monitoring while keeping out of easy shot of the thing’s now-exposed upper hub turret. Horst stays with him for whatever good it will do. Paul keeps a Sphere in hand to provide a quick shield if need be.
I send the update to Earthside, then head for the Lancer.
“You really think you should get any closer to that thing?” Matthew complains about my decision.
“I’
m not looking to get closer to the drone,” I tell him. “I need to speak to Paul, face-to-face without his handlers listening in. I need to know what he’s not willing to say over the air.”
I order no further action until I arrive.
“It’s still very dead,” Anton tries to assure when I meet him at the crater rim an hour later. “Or mostly dead, since there’s still some residual juice in its power plant. But I get no readings from any of the systems. It’s fried.”
“Then it should have broken up,” I needlessly remind him of what every other Disc drone we’ve ever tried to take intact does automatically, “turned to dust on a nano-scale so we can’t get a look at it like we are.”
“Possibility the nukes’ EMP knocked it down without triggering whatever self-destruct it has,” Anton considers. “We’ve shot them down, but we never had the tech on planet to hit them with hard EM.”
We spend a few moments of air just looking at the dig, neither of us eager to get close to such an efficient killing machine.
“You ever read Arthur C. Clarke?” I ask him idly. He looks at me dumbly through his goggles. “Wrote a famous old cult sci-fi called ‘2001’. Started as a short story about aliens who leave a device buried on the moon that emits enough of a signal to get curious humans to dig it up. Digging it up lets the aliens know that man has made it into space.”
“Like an alarm system,” Anton follows. Then I feel him get even more tense than he is now. He starts to take a step back away from the dig, but manages to hold his ground.
“There’s been no Disc activity in fifty years,” Horst criticizes, “at least that we know of.”
“We speculated that the Discs act with at least some independence from whoever created them, possibly coordinated by an AI,” I remind them. We never found any sign of any on-planet human operator, and the way the Discs move in combat is beyond human reaction time. “Maybe they left this one to make sure they really did finish what they started.”
The God Mars Book Two: Lost Worlds Page 13