His voice stays mostly calm during this rant, only occasionally cracking, which is impressive in itself. But now he has to stop and shakes his head like he’s trying to force something out of his mind, deny something unspeakable. He breathes, gathers himself, continues:
“I—and a few like minds—we tried to do something about it, tried to stop it on our own, tried to return ourselves to human, just human. But our weapon—my masterwork—failed at great cost, great personal cost. And I should have died that day, but my nanotech, my plague, it would not let me.
“So we struck upon an even more desperate gambit, to use a new breakthrough technology—something that had only been dared used to passively observe the past—in an unthinkable way: to stop our horrible evolution where it began. But as I said, I forgot that humans are resilient, stubborn. I had been born after most of our race had already been converted. I had only known humans as invincible spoiled pseudo-gods with no fear, no consequence to dissuade them. I imagined that mortal men—vulnerable men—would not dare risk precious life for something as base as a corporation’s profits. But you didn’t give up, not even when threatened with your own deaths. Or the deaths of hundreds. Or thousands.
“My drones were programmed to succeed in their mission at any cost, and their tactical AI is impressive for such a simple machine. When you persistently fought them off, shot them down, they shifted strategy and exacerbated the conflicts you call your ‘Eco War.’ They instigated violence between you that wouldn’t have otherwise happened, sabotaged cease-fires and negotiations, so you would destroy yourselves.”
I glance at Tru and she meets my eyes with a look of shock and rage, her face flushing. And I realize that no matter how insane Chang sounds, his story does offer a terrible but somehow sensible explanation for everything that has happened. I can’t help but consider that he’s telling the truth, or at least select parts of the truth seeded in the fantasy he’s using to justify his admitted atrocities. He may even be mad enough to believe that fantasy.
“But you again proved yourselves resilient: You made your peace, ended your Eco War,” he continues now as if he’s telling us something inconsequential. “So my drones generated their ultimate stratagem, using your own weapons against you for maximum effect, determined to drive you from the planet entirely. I came to myself only weeks after they’d succeeded in their attack, waking to a world destroyed.”
He pauses to observe our responses, but his audience has fallen into a numb shock. Their faces are a mix of horror and disbelief, denial and revelation. The programmed rage I feel burning in my veins is my own testimony: I believe him enough that I want to make him answer for the thousands dead. He seems to sense this:
“I would tell you I am sorry, truly sorry, but you cannot imagine what I’ve saved you all from.” He sounds very much like he wants to be forgiven, or at least understood.
My hands are shaking.
I have the familiar feeling that I’m talking to a madman, an extremist who has gone too far beyond acceptable human conduct to have any anchor anymore. In that, he’s no different than any of the other mass-murderers I’ve been so thoroughly programmed to kill, because I know the world would be better without them. Except that somehow he’s raised a doubt: Somehow I do seem to understand him, despite what he admits to doing.
“Despite what my drones had inflicted, I realized it would not be enough,” he continues solemnly. “You would return to rebuild Mars eventually, no matter the cost. The only way to prevent further slaughter was to make the cost unthinkable. I worked to convince Earth that Mars was hopelessly contaminated, too dangerous to ever hope to return to.”
“How?” Anton challenges, leaning forward in his chair, his face clearly saying he’s not willing to believe anyone responsible for an atrocity on this scale would do anything to preserve life. The shadow chuckles like it’s funny.
“The survivors weren’t as good at hiding as they like to think,” he explains lightly. “I sent signals, created illusions with simple EM fields, sustained the belief that a nano-plague had infected Mars, that no one survived. I only had to do this for a few years, but I kept at it for a decade, just to be sure the Earth remained sufficiently terrified. The amusing part is that the ETE, in their single-mindedness, ignorantly took over this deception for me when they established their atmosphere containment field. I eventually settled myself into a life of isolation, consoling my guilt that I had done what I had done for the greater good, and that I had succeeded, and at far less cost than there could have been.”
He stops, tilts his head down to the floor, his posture looking humble, almost remorseful.
“But you aren’t finished, are you?” I ask him softly but firmly.
He shakes his head.
“I now fear I’ve only forestalled the nightmare that became our downfall,” he confirms with what sounds like honest regret. “You awoke. You called Earth, revealed the deception. And the ETE, who hid themselves and their own atrocity, have now shown themselves for what they are. The seeds of our destruction still exist, you see. Pandora’s Box is still calling to be opened, as if the timeline is fighting to restore itself.
“Look to the ETE, to what they’ve done to themselves, if you doubt me. Or to the lengths that the Shinkyo have gone to, to acquire what no one should for their own greed. And the Earth: still greedy, still willing to risk the lives of everyone—the entire human race—to forestall death. You think they won’t covet what the ETE have shown is possible? You think they won’t try to profit? They haven’t learned their lessons, no matter what righteous ideals they’ve been professing to you. And now, right now, they’re coming back here. You yourself don’t have faith that their only intent is to relieve the survivors. It will only be a matter of time before they walk the path to our ultimate destruction again.”
The silhouette begins to ripple, arms gesturing coiled rage.
“I have given everything!” he all but shouts, like an actor on a stage, overplaying to the back rows. “I have committed every atrocity—I have killed many thousands, and in the process erased the lives of countless more that would have come from them. I have wiped out an entire future, an entire world—my world. And I have not made this world, this time, a better place for it. But you are still human, and I swear you will remain so.”
He becomes calmer, cooler after he makes this declaration, reminding me how dangerous he is, how much the extremist.
“And what do you intend to do to this base?” I want to know.
“That is up to you,” he tells me like it’s inconsequential to him. “I’ve jammed your transmissions, cut you off from your masters and your allies so that you can make your own decision. Right now, this place is a foothold for Earth, and Earth remains a threat to all of us. It must be dealt with, before everything I have done at such great cost is undone.” A good salesman, he pauses for effect, then offers his bargain with all sincerity: “But if you join with me, we can make this our world. I have the tools to hold this planet, to keep them from it, to make it a safe place, a vital place…”
“And what if you prevent their return, and instead they pursue the research that you fear will destroy us on Earth?” I challenge. “What if holding Mars doesn’t stop what you’ve seen us become? What if it actually spurs them to accelerate their research just to fight you?”
“Then we will stop them,” he tells me firmly. “I studied your past, Destroyer, knowing I might meet some earlier version of you here. I know how you feel about following orders unquestioningly. I know you weigh your duty against your doubts, your own values against the agendas of those you serve and those you lead. You know in your heart that your leaders manipulate you, that your people are all expendable to them. And you know that there is the promise of a real life here, free from Earth’s corrupt politics and twisted morality. You know that.
“So choose. Or let your people choose—let each person make his or her own decision. Only know that the one thousand two hundred of you in this
concrete hole are of no consequence to me, weighed against what I’ve seen in my future and have sworn to prevent. I will remove Earth’s hold on this planet, and then I will wipe it clean of all the abominations that threaten our humanity.”
Chang softens again, acts like an old friend.
“You can’t imagine how good it is to see that you’ve grown old and stayed old, Michael Ram. It’s not how I knew you. To be mortal is precious.”
Then the lines begin to blur, the shadow begins to dissolve inside the containment chamber. The weight readings on the floor plates drop to zero.
“You have one hour to decide,” is the last thing he says, and then the shadow is gone from the chamber.
“Do you believe a word he—that thing, whatever it was—said?” Tru is the first to challenge as we meet around the conference table. But her tone is unsure, ambivalent. She denies, but also believes. She isn’t alone in that.
“I believe he believes it,” I offer everyone. “That conviction makes him dangerous enough. And what we can see outside substantiates his claim that he is connected to the Discs, which means he could very well be responsible for everything they’ve done.”
“It would answer a lot of questions after all these years,” Rick is the first say what we all seem to be thinking, “despite how insane it sounds.”
“Is anything he said about time travel possible?” Kastl wants to know.
Rick shakes his head, shrugs.
“The ETE came to pretty much the same conclusion I did in analyzing that Disc,” Anton tries urgently. “Their tech wasn’t possible in 2045. And I’ve heard the theories about quantum relativity, about particles and forces that don’t conform to our relative time. If you could locate and manipulate those particles, I suppose you could apply nano-manufacturing techniques with them.”
“I overheard Paul Stilson say their nanotech had rebuilt his brother’s body from the meat scraps we picked up after that Disc blew him apart,” Rios puts in. “Could more advanced nanotech rebuild a man out of raw elements, memories and all?”
“We’ve seen a lot of unthinkable shit since we woke up,” Rick allows.
“Occam’s Razor,” I cut in with what I have to believe. “More likely he just made or got hold of something beyond-bleeding-edge, snuck it to Mars, then apparently followed it here, all because he was terrified of some future nano-apocalypse. Then he managed to survive the bombs, spent the interim years tinkering with the tech like the ETE, or maybe stole from the ETE, made himself into some twisted version of what they are, and went crazy in the process. He may just really believe he’s some savior from the future, delusional in his fanaticism.”
Rick nods, buying in. The rest don’t look too sure either way. (I realize I’m having my own doubts, which just tells me that Chang is a good salesman, something that likely helped drag the PK and Zodangans in with him.)
“Too bad we can’t call anybody Earthside to ask for a second opinion,” Halley considers.
“You think they’d give us a remotely straight answer?” Tru snaps at her.
“Are you expecting we’d be thrown in front of Chang’s guns if we asked Earthside for orders?” I let her know it’s not just her thinking it.
“It’s exactly what I’m thinking,” Tru confirms, looking around the table. “Time travel or not, I can’t imagine they’d just tell us to surrender this base. But I’m not for throwing in with a butchering psycho, either. If you believe any of his bizarre-ass story, his toys played us against each other, killed a lot of good people that didn’t need to die. Shredded orbit. Nuked the planet. Killed everyone incoming or outgoing. The fucker’s murdered thousands of people—including children—and he sounds like he doesn’t think it’s a big deal.”
I nod heavily, letting her know I share her outrage.
“Are there other options on the table?” Rios asks seriously.
No one speaks for a while.
“We’ve been asked to choose death or surrender,” I clarify. “No room for negotiation.”
“So?” Tru presses, impatient.
“I believe it’s always best to negotiate from a position of strength,” I tell them. “Can we hit them hard enough to make them rethink the choices they’ve given us?”
“If we break whatever jam they have on us, we could call for help,” Metzger considers.
“Our silence for this long may have gotten some attention,” Kastl tries. I nod my agreement.
“Help may already be on the way,” Rios concurs. “And help’s likely to start shooting as soon as they eyeball what’s hovering out there, especially when they can’t raise us.”
“Can we hurt them?” I ask again.
“A lot depends on how they can hurt us,” Metzger gives me. “Assume the Discs will go for our remaining batteries and any ships we put in the sky. Six is a lot of Frisbees to deal with at once. Then whatever those new light fighters strapped to the pirate ships can do.”
“What if we power through the small threats, focus on taking down the mothers?” Kastl suggests. I nod.
“Ground troops can keep the little blips busy,” Rios offers. “We could surface H-A squads all over, put our recent drill time to good use.”
“You’d be walking into a meat-grinder,” Tru protests, then gives: “But I can give you more guns on the ground. My Ecos used to shoot at you; we can hit a few Frisbees.”
“We can’t armor all of you,” Rios warns.
“We didn’t have armor before,” she reminds him.
“They’ve also left a Nomad camp at their backs,” I notice, almost cheerfully. “I’m betting they step up with us when the shooting starts, even if we can’t call them.”
“What about our shadow-man?” Halley throws out. “Chang or whatever he is… His tech does impress, even compared to the ETE. What do we expect from him?”
“He didn’t show us any weapons,” Sakina offers her assessment. “If a man wants to kill you, he does not display his weapons until the last instant. If he wants to intimidate you, it’s the first thing he does. If this shadow-man had personal offensive devices better than the Jinn, he would have shown them, because he intends to be intimidating—displaying his fleet instead of attacking with surprise tells us so. He only showed us he could not be touched himself, or that he is good with illusions.”
I give her a nod. “She’s right. He also claims to be some kind of mad scientist, not military. I could believe that from his body language. And he gave his drones full credit for their own tactics. He may be smart, and have impressive resources, but he doesn’t strike me as an experienced tactician. He is putting on a show out there. I think he’s counting on us to be intimidated, to either give up or dig in and get hammered.”
“A blitz against his big ships could shake him,” Metzger agrees. “Unless those pocket fighters carry passengers, his crews could be looking at a long walk home.”
“He says he has Janeway and Bly behind him,” Rios reminds me.
“Bly is a raider, not a soldier,” I counter. “He’s used to hitting and running, having the advantage of surprise and the air. Janeway… He could be a threat. But he’s also used to playing defense from a fortified position—I’m not sure if he could coordinate an effective all-out attack with unfamiliar resources.”
“One way to find out…” Tru concludes, reminding me that she was an impressive field commander herself once upon a time.
“Any comments or questions?” I throw out. Everyone shakes their heads, and I get a chorus of firm “No, sir.” More impressively, no one brings up Chang’s offer to let each one of us choose their own way independently. Not even Tru, who speaks for the resident civilians (and I know she must have asked them in the minutes that passed between Chang’s vanishing act and our regrouping in the conference room).
I check the clock: It’s been seventeen minutes since Chang gave us his hour. I stand up, signaling that the discussion is over.
“Have MAI run some solutions,” I order. “Get Tru’s people p
roperly equipped. Suit up every H-A we have. Spin up what we’ve got that flies. I want to answer Shadow Man before his hour is up.”
Chapter 3: “He today who sheds his blood with me…”
The first place I go is down to the launch bays.
The Lancer looks old, abused—very little like the sleek dart of a ship that first appeared so gracefully out of nowhere when we still thought we were the only people left alive on this planet. Morales had to pull the port-forward turret, too damaged by Disc grenades, leaving a gaping hole. In exchange she bolted missile launchers under the wings, scavenged from a broken ASV. And she had to do some body work. What’s left of the black stealth skin is mostly patchwork. Scrap titanium has been fused over the left side of the cockpit like an eyepatch, covering the blast damage that took Matthew. Extra insulating material has been bolted under the nose, forming a shield she hopes will shape the EMP “gun” so it can be fired safely over the base. The landing gear—extensively rebuilt—no longer retracts.
But I came to see the pilot, not the ship.
“Officer on deck!” Acaveda shouts.
“Keep working,” I order. Smith sees me and climbs down out of the forward belly lock.
“Colonel,” he greets evenly.
“Captain,” I return. “You understand your objectives?”
“Yes, sir. Avoid the little buggers. Kill the big ones first.”
“And try not to get killed,” I add. “Being pissed-off is expected, Captain. Use it. But don’t forget you’re an asset, and we don’t have a lot of those. Don’t let anger get you dead.”
“I’ll accept that from someone who knows, sir,” he gives me.
“I’ve been killing people with my rage since I was in my twenties,” I let him know. “But I’m a bit of a freak—it works for me. I can stay cool, objective. Thinking.”
The God Mars Book Two: Lost Worlds Page 22