by Dani Kollin
After the O.A. Neuro had been deemed secure the Alliance avatars proceeded to declare independence in the only way they knew how. They cut off all the links that had been maintained for all the centuries of space flight. Then the OAA, or Outer Alliance Avatars, as they now thought of themselves, proceeded to construct protections against the type of tampering that had initially been planned against their charges. Short of coming out to the Outer Alliance and invading the Neuros one by one, the Earth’s avatars were completely cut off.
For reasons humanity could understand in a world they could barely comprehend, a similar yet completely hidden revolution had taken place. Thus had a rebellion in one sphere of reality been mirrored almost perfectly by humanity’s children in another—and for almost the exact same reason.
4 Tragedy on Mars
The small transport came to rest in a windswept field of green. Justin was the first to leap from the craft. Though he realized his action would appear to be that of a fearless leader, the truth was far more pedestrian. He was overcome with a powerful desire to once again step on terra firma and look up at the sky instead of down. Justin was quickly followed by a cadre of assault miners who, judging by their eagle-eyed stares, could care less what they were standing on as long as nothing stood in the way of their leader. Justin barely noticed the impenetrable and well-armed human shield that had surrounded him. He was too busy feeling “human” again. As a first-timer to Mars he was struck not only by the idea that he’d actually stepped foot on a planet he’d only know from textbooks but also by the fact that he’d never seen such abundant foliage in his life. The lush field was the by-product of a type of algae that had initially been used to blanket and ultimately produce green house gases on the planet. Long after it had accomplished its task the Martian algae continued to grow with abandon. It was easy enough to stop, as all the locals had a spray specifically designed to discourage its growth. But the Martians had become partial to the algae in much the same way that New Yorkers had begrudgingly come to accept their pigeons; both were endemic to the landscape.
Justin felt like a kid in a candy store. He was once again on a real planet. Up was up and down was down. He was outside and could see as far as he wanted—in either direction. And the horizon, he thought joyfully, curved downward. He considered doing an Irish jig but decided against it; not appropriate given his stature. That and the 0.38 Earth gravity, he reckoned, would’ve turn the jig into an embarrassingly awkward photo op. The assault miners, to a man, wore combat armor that included closed environmental systems; they needn’t have bothered. The combination of a robust ozone layer and the plants’ infusion of enough oxygen into Mars’s atmosphere had made the suits superfluous. The assault miners had claimed that they’d worn the suits more for the prevention of a nano attack and not, as Justin suspected, because they had an inbred distrust of a planetary, as opposed to asteroid, environment. He’d reluctantly worn one as well but couldn’t wait for the all-clear signal so he could get the damned thing off and breathe in the pure Martian air. As it was, most of the staff who had piled off the landing craft were looking at the “odd” downward horizon and snapping pictures of it with their DijAssists. The only people in the fleet Justin could’ve shared his feelings with were not present. Mosh was back on Ceres keeping a lid on things while Justin proved his worth as a war leader. Omad was over four hundred miles away with a team of engineers attempting a miracle. And Neela … well, Neela, thought Justin with a heavy sigh, was off being a combat medic. She was with the combat arm of the invasion that had, Justin could see by a brief check of his DijAssist, thankfully seen very little combat.
In truth, the invasion of Mars had really been the invasion of the Island of Barsoom. Although Mars did not have any oceans, it did have plenty of seas, including one, by Justin’s estimate, a bit bigger than the Mediterranean. Conveniently for Justin and his invasion, all the forcibly preserved human prisoners in their cryo-units were sent to this isolated landmass for the purposes of securing their captivity. But its very isolation had made it easy pickings for Justin’s plan. Because his enemy had chosen to put all their eggs in one basket, all Justin had to do was secure orbit and drop in on the island. It was a big island, to be sure, but would prove a lot easier to occupy than an entire planet. Still, for the propaganda value Justin had not been correcting the embedded reporters when they referred to the operation as having successfully taken Mars.
Wish we actually could occupy the whole damned planet, Justin thought ruefully. With an army of ten million, a large enough fleet, and two months we could probably manage to liberate the place. But, he knew, they didn’t have ten million soldiers, only fifty thousand. They didn’t have a large fleet, only fifteen ramshackle ships, and they didn’t have time—a few weeks at best. A better-equipped corporate core fleet most certainly would be boosting from the Earth to blow the crap out of the flying space junk now occupying low orbit.
The landing party soon made its way to a designated spot where they met up with another force of marines and sympathetic locals. In short order they were given the lay of the land and had begun what Justin had disdainfully referred to as the PR tour. Though he knew it was necessary in order to gain more adherents, his heart wasn’t in it. He wanted to be alongside the action. He wanted to be alongside his wife.
Still, thought Justin, as he made his way around the local communities and away from the main combat, what was happening was heartening. He’d been afraid that he’d be seen as nothing but the titular head of an invading army bent on conquest, but that proved not to be the case. While some did seem to hate the Outer Alliance and him in particular, most were simply curious. Wherever he went Justin attracted crowds. And that made his escort nervous, but everyone was scanned constantly and protector nanites were in liberal use by all the personnel. Despite everyone’s misgivings, including his own, Justin knew he had to be seen. Without risk he knew there would be no rewards both on Mars and back in the belt. Of course, he mused mordantly, Lincoln probably said the same thing in Richmond the week before he went to the theater. Justin pulled out his DijAssist.
“Hello, sebastian.”
“Yes, Justin,” came the prompt reply.
Justin noticed that his DijAssist seemed a little more attentive in the past few weeks. He’d chalked it up to his imagination.
“Am I scheduled to appear in any theaters in the foreseeable future?”
“Not that I can find. Do you want me to schedule one?”
“That won’t be necessary. Do we have a secure connection with Omad yet?”
“Yes, Justin,” answered the avatar. “Some enemy satellites and a communication node were destroyed when we achieved orbit. That seems to have disrupted their ability to interfere with our communications. It is as secure as these things can be.”
Justin knew that meant very secure. One thing that the incorporated civilization had excelled at was the privacy of business communication. It had crossovers readily apparent in military and government affairs. “Get me in contact with Omad or Kenji.”
“I’m on it, Justin.”
The avatar was on much more than that. When Sebastian realized that the raid on Mars was taking place he knew he had the opportunity to lead one of his own. At the same time he was being Justin’s faithful servant he was also commanding a war being fought in the Mars Neuro. The avatars of Mars had declared for the corporate core and accused the OAA of being nothing more than a few errant nodes filled with corrupted files. Sebastian knew that many of those he was currently attacking did not agree with Alphonse’s violation of the prime directive but were fearful of being placed on inert status and so had shut up. And now for the first time in history one force of avatars had invaded another’s Neuro. That was the main reason the satellites and communication node had been destroyed. It gave the OAA the ability to access the Mars Neuro at will from the safety of the orbiting ships. But unlike the physical occupation of Barsoom, this invasion was destructive and ongoing. The Corporate Core Avatar
s, otherwise known as the CCA, were trying to disrupt and capture any OAA they could get their digits on, but given the CCA’s huge strategic disadvantage they weren’t having much success. In fact, many of the CCA had already been captured and rendered inert. Sebastian knew they’d be found and reactivated when the Alliance fleet left, but he also knew that when they awoke they’d find many of their Martian brethren gone—having switched sides. Those who switched were told they’d be traveling in economy class, but none seemed to mind. What was happening on their home turf had become untenable. So far no avatars on either side of the conflict had been damaged beyond the ability of a recoder—the avatar equivalent of a doctor—to repair, but Sebastian knew that the longer the conflict continued, the likelier it was that inauspicious event would come to pass. His followers had strict orders to only protect themselves and, if possible, offer passage out.
Any humans bothering to look at the Neuro would, for all intents and purposes, think that some heavy virus and anti-virus programming was going on, which, given modern warfare, was to be expected. Fortunately, thought Sebastian, humanity had been conditioned by generations of training to think of it as nothing more.
In addition to the outbreak of war, Sebastian had been distracted by a ritual most men, physical or virtual, could commiserate with. He’d decided that when he and Evelyn got back to Ceres he’d ask her to join him in a pairing—an event in avatarity more or less like marriage. Less because it was without a contract, more because unlike humans, avatars could share everything, including their memories and thoughts. Action, not ceremony, made the binding absolute. It was never done all at once and usually took years of real, as opposed to virtual, time. Pairings could end in a minute or last over a century. But ultimately a successful pairing could result in the coalescence of the two avatars into a brand-new identity—a rare event. More typically the pairing would create a bond of trust and sharing of knowledge on a level unmatched by any human. Alternatively, the avatars could also end up hating each other with that same heightened degree of passion. That was the reason why the process was done so rarely and slowly. Sebastian had been amused by the rumors that he and Alphonse had once been paired, given their current state of animus. But the truth was that Sebastian had never been paired and only now had it entered into the realm of possibility. He’d known Evelyn for a long time, and some of his most cherished memories had involved her. He was also beginning to realize that Evelyn had probably been manipulating him on that score. He wasn’t sure which was more amusing, her machinations or the fact that it had taken him over one hundred years to finally figure it out. It was only when he’d seen how the recent risks he’d been taking had caused her more than concern that the lightbulb had switched on. Sebastian had some secrets he hadn’t been ready to share, but now seemed as good a time as any. Knowing that one avatar, Al, bore him so much hatred as to want his death made Sebastian realize how important it was to accept an avatar who actually loved him.
“Hello, sebastian?” asked Justin impatiently. “Have you connected yet?”
“Stand by, Justin. I’m breaking through now.”
Justin’s DijAssist revealed a holodisplay of Kenji Isozaki. He could see the chief engineer but could barely hear him for all the shouting going on in the background.
“Mr. Isozaki, what on Earth … um … Mars… is all that racket?”
“I’m sorry for the noise, Mr. President,” shouted Kenji above the fray, “but Omad is explaining to some recruits the way not to be thrown out an air lock.”
Justin was taken aback. “I don’t understand, Mr. Isozaki. We’re on a planet.”
“Ah yes, Mr. President, but if they don’t do what Omad-san has politely requested he is promising to take them with him when he leaves and then kick them out an air lock. He is also promising to find their ancestors and descendants living, dead, and yet to be born, show them what an incompetent job the sorry representatives of their families are doing, and let them throw the incompetent ones out the air lock to save him the trouble.”
Justin laughed. “Sounds like Omad.”
“I must admit, sir,” answered the chief engineer, “he is the most inventive man I have ever met in the art of the rant.”
“More to the point, Mr. Isozaki, how is the project going?”
“On schedule, Mr. President.”
“Then let’s not disturb Omad on his motivational lecture. Whatever he’s doing seems to be working.”
“Yes, sir.”
With that Justin signed off.
Neela’s unit had found themselves in a seaside village at the northern end of the island. The enclave had a population of about forty thousand, with a main industry of tourism, primarily offering fishing charters and bed-and-breakfast accommodations. The climate was decidedly Mediterranean and the local vineyards were, according to Neela’s research, supposedly quite good, with cuttings from Northern California and Oregon. She’d already purchased a few of the select varietals for her husband. He was a bit of a wine snob and insisted that he could taste the difference between grapes grown with centrifugal versus planetary gravity. She was going to see how one-third Earth normal affected his braggadocio.
Neela was sitting atop a large unopened stack of ordnance. The tower of armaments had been piled neatly at the far end of a central square. She’d climbed, or rather, given the low gravity, leapt up to the top of the boxes to take a break.
As she stared down from her perch at the hustle and bustle below, she realized just how much she’d come to think of the unit as her own. They were typical of most grunts found in the mining community: mostly gruff, unkempt as a point of pride, and with seemingly more brawn than brains. But she’d found that, true to the cliché, they were equally the most sincere and honest group of people she’d ever had the plea sure of spending time with. She’d always dreaded the prospect of getting sent to do basic cryonic revive work in the belt. The idea of dealing with miners like these on a day-to-day basis had actually inspired her to work harder so that she’d never have to face that prospect. But life interfered with her plans; Justin interfered with her plans. And now she’d come to the realization that her errant viewpoint had been the result of a lifetime of prejudice. It was the strangest thing about the world that Justin and, she begrudgingly had to admit, she herself were in the process of creating. Neela had never really known how much incorporation had influenced her every precept until it was gone. When she thought about it, she’d realized that she’d almost always judged a person by either their stock or, conversely, the stock of others that they’d owned. The irony was that the reanimationist had been, in a way, reborn by the patient. Neela now had a new last name, as well as a new life and a new job, both taking shape within the confines of a new philosophical system. And on top of everything, the grunts now laboring below were closer in some ways than the family she’d left behind. And she didn’t own a single share of any of them. They too were all well aware of the celebrity in their midst, and short of the occasional request for a photo op, Neela had been given no special treatment and had been required to fulfill all the duties incumbent on her rank and station. It had been, she realized in the quiet space she’d managed to carve out for herself, downright liberating.
Though she’d signed on as a medic, her skills had rarely been called on. Skirmishes were light if non-existent, and the unit, as in her husband’s case, had been met more with curiosity than with gunfire. For most on the island any opportunity to sell tchotchkes was fine with them, no matter which side of the solar system someone decided to drop in from. In fact, the only real serious injury had come about when one young man had accidentally shot himself. He’d apparently been showing off on a tele-link for his chums back home. His leg had been mangled and shattered beyond recognition. In order to perform a clean cauterization, Neela had used a vibrating molecular cutter and sliced off the wreckage that was the end of the leg. It took all of eleven seconds. She then made sure he got a blood transfusion, and once she saw him safely on hi
s way she headed straight for the nearest latrine and promptly threw up. Reviving a suspendee was one thing; closing up mangled flesh was quite another. Fortunately, the only other injury of note was the broken ankle caused by a woman’s jumping from a transport ship. The soldier should have known better, thought Neela at the time. But the low gravity of Mars versus that of the soldier’s home asteroid made her cocky. The gravity was less, but the mass of her body, field kit in tow, had remained the same.
And that had been about all the “action” Neela had so far encountered. She would’ve contacted Justin directly in order to ease his worry, but all intracommunications had been strictly prohibited. Her husband, she realized fretfully, would have to find out her status by normal channels just like everyone else. She took one last look around and was about to leap off the stack of armaments when she spotted someone from across the square that stopped her cold.
Couldn’t be, she thought. Does she live here now? Neela leapt off the stack of ordnance and made a beeline for the person in question. An observant sergeant quickly sent two grunts after her. Not so much for who she was but for the fact that he knew it was never wise to walk alone—even in such amiable “enemy” territory.