Idiot. I shouldn’t have fallen asleep in such a well-traveled place.
They’re hiding from me in the rocks. I can see their heat, their enhanced motion. A half-dozen Nomads, possibly from Abbas’ band, laden with canisters as if taking a trip to the local well.
I try to move slowly, non-threateningly, keeping my hands away from my weapons. I drop my hood back so they can see me smile a warm greeting.
Second mistake. Obviously, I’m not wearing a mask. How am I breathing?
I stay put. Make a poor show of mortality by picking up my scavenged rebreather, sipping from the O2 line. I hook it onto my belt like I need it. Show them my open hands.
I see the crossbow bolt coming like it’s been casually tossed my way. And I catch it before it hits me in the throat.
I am an idiot.
I should have let it ping off my armor or duck it rather than effortlessly demonstrate inhuman speed and strength.
“I don’t mean you any harm.”
Proving how convincing that was, they waste a bullet trying to shoot me in the head. This I see coming like a thrown pebble, my perception of time automatically slowing in response to threat. My hand rotates in a blur, and the shell smacks off my backhand armor with a stinging crack. Another inhuman feat. At least it makes them hesitate.
I make the dubious decision of standing, keep offering my hands. If these people are with Abbas’ band, they know me. Knew me.
“I am Colonel Ram! I am the Peacemaker! Friend of Abu Abbas! Friend of Barak Hassim! I mean you no harm!”
I don’t get an answer for several seconds. The Nomads have frozen in place, hunkered down in the rolling terrain, trying to be invisible. If any of them had ever seen me, knew what I looked like before, my statement is ludicrous. And Colonel Ram of UNMAC certainly wasn’t capable of swatting bullets out of the air, no matter how outrageous his reputation.
So what must they think I am? I remember there were stories in the camps of possibly modded humans (other than the ETE “Jinni”). They may have simply seen Shinkyo Shinobi. Or Sakina, as the Zauba’a Ghaddar. Or maybe even Chang, since he said he’d spent the five decades between the Big Bang and showing up to attack us in idle isolation. (And the only other all-black figure they would have seen wandering around out here would have been Chang or what he turned Bly into.)
I get my reply as a whistle through the air, coming at my head from behind. Again, I should have ducked it, but I reach out blind and catch the projectile. It’s a foot-long steel rod, ¾ inch thick in the middle, tapered to hardened points at each end. Throwing torpedo. I know it well.
“Sakina!” I shout into the morning wind. (And I realize I’ve probably committed an unforgivable slip, using her real name in front of others, her secret name that was just for me, but I don’t care.) “It’s me! I’m…”
What? Her master? Her lover? Mentor? Hero?
She would have given her life for me. She believed I could save this world. She even tried to fight an immortal (two immortals, if Bly is one as well) to protect me.
“Sakina! Zauba’a Ghaddar!”
The other Nomads have used the distraction to run away. I scan the horizon. She has to be close. I don’t see…
Movement.
She’s running. Why is she running?
“It’s me!!” I’m screaming nonsense at the wind. “I’m still me!!”
I want to run after her. I’m sure I could catch her.
But then what? Fight her? Restrain her while I talked sense into her? And show her I’m stronger and faster than even she is?
I look nothing like the man she loved.
“Sakina!!”
I stand here and let her run, holding her weapon like it’s all I have left of her.
Fuck.
Chapter 2: Never Go Home
It takes me another full day to hike the rest of the way to Melas Two.
I approach the base from the north, using the ridge where we built our cemetery to mask my coming. I camp in the shadow of the ridge through the night, not bothering to use my salvaged heater for fear I would be detected on infrared, either from the base or from whatever they have in orbit. I dozed for a few hours huddled under my cowl.
Just before dawn, I climb up to the cemetery, hiding behind the memorial pyramid we’d built to our honored dead: those who died during the disaster fifty years ago and those who gave their lives since. I am a ghoul, a wraith, come back from the dead to haunt this graveyard.
In the shadows before daybreak, the base is only sparsely lit: Ops Tower, airlocks, the lights of the few windows our civilian contingent gets in their converted cargo bays. Sometimes I see movement, but even my new eyes can’t recognize anyone.
As the sun comes up, I can see that most of the bunker structures remain buried, except for the locks, launch bays, batteries and the Ops Tower. The Aircom Tower is indeed gone, replaced with a patching slab, victim of Chang’s massive railgun; and along with it, Jill Metzger and her crew, certainly dead in that devastating blast.
I find her name fresh on the memorial with about fifty other new names, all dated 17 January 2117, the same day I was “killed”. I don’t see my name on the slab. Thankfully, I don’t find any more recent additions. However long it’s been, we haven’t seen another battle.
The Ops Tower is visibly patched. I remember it took abuse from Chang’s secondary guns and his Discs. But there’s a new uplink sitting on top of it, not the patchwork “Staley’s Tower” cobbled together by Anton and Simon. And new uplink must mean new satellites overhead. (Which means I’ll be seen soon enough if I keep standing out here.)
There are also a full set of new battery guns on the perimeter, and even anti-personnel turrets on the bunker roofs. I wonder again how long I’ve been gone.
The greenhouse looks pretty much like I’d left it, west of the base over one of our buried reactors for heat. But I can’t see the Nomad camp for the semi-resident workers who’d come to help with our garden project (and to help defend us whenever needed).
One of the pads opens its shield doors and raises for launch. On the deck is a ship I haven’t seen before: Mars camo red, delta wing, but much sleeker than our ASVs. I remember Richards saying they were sending prototypes. But that shipment wasn’t due until…
Another pad opens and raises, bringing up an identical ship. They burn engines and lift, taking off and gliding south-southeast, possibly heading for Melas Three. A patrol? Or just moving resources?
I realize I can hear chatter in my head. I’m picking up command Link. Comm between the two ships and base. One voice I recognize: Wilson Smith, apparently acting as Aircom Officer. I don’t know the pilots. But they go by silly call signs: “Goldenboy” and “Red Leader”.
And then I get a snippet of another familiar voice, hailing them off: It’s Colonel Burns.
What the hell is he doing on planet? How long have I been gone?
Answering me, I get a flash of a time and date stamp that looks like MAI’s:
27 March 2117.
It’s been over two months.
I hunker down and hide like a criminal as the ships go, sure my black dust-proof goofy costume is a big dark spot on satellite imaging. But then I realize: it isn’t black anymore. It’s turned itself a perfect Mars camo.
I run the next step—the part I’ve been stewing the whole walk here—through my head for the thousandth time: What now?
I can’t go in like this. They’ll be terrified of me. Especially if any of the new Earthside Command are on planet. (And where is Lisa?) They’ll probably shoot first, or shut me in containment, treat me like a dangerous bio-weapon sent by the enemy.
I’d been thinking that maybe I could lie, present myself as some kind of new ETE Guardian, then get close enough to Lisa or Rick or maybe even Anton to tell them the truth (and be ready to run for it if said truth isn’t well received).
I’m getting more than date-stamp from MAI now. I’m getting feed. Scanning. Radar. Uplink. Base Link. Battery
control. Security. All straight into my head.
I stand up. I put myself where the sentry systems can surely see me but there’s no good window view for human eyes. And the sentries do react to me, target me. But I can apparently tell them to be quiet.
I’m in. I’m hacked directly into the base AI. At will.
I could sneak inside. I could get to Lisa. Or…
No. I imagine screaming and panicking and lots of guns pointed at me. And then they’d really get to see what I am now.
I wish I looked like I used to.
My face goes more numb than usual, feels like the skin is coming loose. I can’t really tell through my gloves, but my skin is changing, becoming thinner, looser. Sagging. Aging. I run my fingers back through my rock star hair and it all falls away in a mass like I’ve been shorn. And then I get the sickening sight of the hair melting, liquefying and soaking into me. Gone.
I pull the knife and widen the blade for a makeshift mirror, look at my face.
I’m me again. Old me. Scars and all. Even my eyes are plain.
I remember some of the nano mods sold for cosmetic vanity, entertainment, and military/intel applications. I wonder who else I can look like.
I get creative. I have the rebreather, canisters, a field heater. I focus on my armor, will it to reshape. Get rough. Handmade hand-cut hand-welded, like a Nomad’s or a Knight’s. Turn it a hand-painted red, with lots of wear scuffs. Age my boots. I expand my coat into a proper surface cloak. Then I find a convenient rock pile to hide my weapons and my collapsed helmet.
Not enough. I turn my face skyward, focus on generating some convincing UV and wind burn, low-pressure capillary “rose”. And then I make sure the dust clings to me properly.
The whole process takes perhaps half an hour.
Then I let the sentries “see” me, and go hobbling like an old man down the hill home.
I get greeted by the batteries first, turning and locking on me as I limp and drag for the main “gate”. I hesitate like they can hurt me, peel back my cowl to let them see me. Wait.
Forty seconds. Heavy Armor starts pouring out of Airlock Two. Jogging over the regolith. Guns on me. Stopping. I give them a weak wave and a weaker grin, sipping air from a hose. Hold up my hands so they can see I’m unarmed. Harmless.
“Colonel Ram?” one of the heavy armor helmets asks tentatively. It’s Rios.
“Good to see you’re still alive, Captain,” I tell him raggedly, like I’ve been sucking grit.
“Do not approach him, Captain,” Burns cuts in quick on their Links. “No one approaches him.”
“It is Colonel Ram, sir,” Rios protests.
“Is that you, Colonel Burns?” I call out ignorantly. “When did you make planet?”
“Last month,” he allows tensely. “And that’s enough chatter. You will comply or you will be shot. Is that understood?”
“I get it,” I allow him back. “Long story. Doubt you’ll believe it. Best check me out first.”
“That’s the plan,” he tells me firmly.
“Just tell me what you need me to do.”
The squad of H-A troopers herds me into the airlock, and that’s where I get my first “test”: there’s a new body scanner, probably tuned for ETE nanotech (or nanotech based on ETE nanotech, given what we saw the Shinkyo put in the field). But its presence here speaks to a paranoia that could only come from Earth: they’re afraid of some kind of infection, probably still believing the planet is contagious. Too bad it’s wired into MAI, just like I am. I make it tell a convincing lie.
“He’s clean, Colonel,” I hear Horst on the other side of the inner hatch.
“Remains to be determined, Lieutenant,” Burns holds. “Escort him to Medical. Doctor Halley?”
“Iso One is ready, Colonel. We’re clearing his path.” She sounds as tense as everybody else.
I’m not sure what I expected. That they’d all be glad to see me, back from the dead? Or maybe Earth’s paranoia is rubbing off, maybe they’re afraid there could be something sneaky out there. And it hits me: Maybe Chang’s done something while I’ve been gone.
Or maybe they’re just afraid Burns will order them to kill me if they don’t do everything by his book.
I don’t get to see Horst’s face either: he’s sealed in his H-A can when the hatch cycles. And a dozen more red shells are waiting for me in Staging.
“This way, Colonel,” he prods. But then whispers: “It’s good to have you back, sir.”
“Remains to be seen,” I mutter. “But thank you, Lieutenant.”
I’m used to being on the other side of the polycarbonate.
The sealed transparent cell of the Isolation exam room is bright and chilly—more so that my first order is to strip, at least dropping my armor and passing it through a glove box (and so hoping it doesn’t morph or dissolve or whatever once it’s out of my control). Halley—just a voice so far—has me strip to the waist. I’m probably as pleased as she is to see that I still have skin, and skin that looks pretty much like it did when I left, scars and gray body hair and all (and one convincingly new-pink set of scars for where Bly ran me through).
They keep everybody out of Medical despite the chamber’s integrity (maybe worried I’d bust out, like Chang vapored out when we had him in here). The auto systems run deep scans, take blood and tissue (I’m already telling the machines what to say—I hope I’m convincing as an old man recovering from a stab wound to the liver).
“You can get dressed, now, Colonel,” Halley eventually tells me, sounding honestly relieved. I pull on the plain insulated work tunic that used to be the padded jerkin for my armor, lean back against the exam table.
Halley is the first one to come in, a flood of emotion dancing across her face. The second is Lisa.
“Hey,” I start lamely. She’s chewing her lip to keep from crying. She probably thought I was dead. She’s visibly shaking. “I am so sorry…”
“What happened to you?” she snaps right to it.
“I got a bit stabbed,” I try lightening.
“We know that,” she manages to get out, trying to keep it remotely professional. “Captain Rios gave his report.” She almost doesn’t finish the sentence.
“And I apparently got rescued,” I fill in. “I’m not sure. I was pretty out of it.”
“Who was that?” she keeps pushing forward. “Who took you?”
“Ra. Same one we saw watching our first battle with Chang,” I use truth. “Another hybrid. Told the same story Chang did, about coming from a bad future. Except Ra came to stop him. Didn’t do a terribly good job of it.”
“Why you? Why did it save you?”
“I’m not sure. Apparently Chang thinks I’m a personal threat to him, someone who can give him a run for his money. Might explain his need to monologue to me like he does. I think me not being dead keeps him scared. Like I said: I was pretty out of it.”
“How did Ra heal you?” Halley takes it. I raise my tunic, show off the scars, front and back, entry and exit.
“I’m not sure you could call it ‘healing’, Doctor. There was a lot of cutting. And burning. And fusing. Ra had tools, maybe like the ETE, something. I was out of it, as I said. Which is good, because I don’t think there was anesthetic involved. I heard something about a bleed, a laceration to my liver, and my colon got grazed. Thankfully Bly’s weapon went through pretty clean.”
Lie. Bly’s blade made ribbons out of my insides.
“You’ve been gone eleven weeks,” Lisa almost accuses. “Where were you?”
“Shelter in an abandoned Zodangan cave.” Mostly true. “Too weak to move for awhile. Just got my legs back.” Sort of. “Got left with supplies, survival gear for the hike. What I’m assuming is Knight or Nomad armor and clothing, maybe taken after the battle. Ra left sometime while I was out of it, no idea when or where.” The salting of truths keep the tale convincing.
“You don’t have any provisions with you, just water and O2,” Halley confronts the biologi
cal details.
“Ran out days ago. It took me five days to get back here. Thankfully I had a rebreather. I didn’t have any of my gear when I woke up, not even my L-As. And I didn’t see a single soul the whole hike—probably a good thing, since I also didn’t have a weapon.”
“And this ‘Ra’ didn’t use any nanotechnology or biotechnology to heal you?”
The question comes from Burns, who lets himself in to the observation space on the other side of the transparency. It’s the first time I’ve seen him in the flesh, the first time I’ve been able to speak with him without a long transmission delay. He immediately strikes me as an officious prick, possibly a dangerous idiot. (And I remember: none of the so-called warriors from this new Earth has supposedly ever seen war, unless there are things they’re hiding from us.)
“Nice to see you in the flesh, Colonel Burns,” I play polite.
“I’m assuming that’s what you are, Colonel Ram. And who you are.”
“Everything checks,” Halley insists. “Scans. Blood. Tissue. DNA. This is Colonel Ram. And that’s all.”
“I’m not buying the story,” he lays it out.
“I wouldn’t buy the story,” I go with it, play along with his fears. “I don’t, frankly. I doubt any of these people or things or whatever they are have been honest about anything. Including conveniently saving my life. Which is why I wanted you to scan me, test everything. You’re absolutely right to be cautious. I wasn’t sure I wasn’t some kind of trap.”
“Then why didn’t you just stay away?” He sounds like that’s what he wanted for other reasons.
“I’m here to report. And to get back to doing my job. I was assuming I was still needed in that capacity.” My turn to get testy.
“I’m acting Planetary Commander now,” he announces smugly, “at least until General Richards makes orbit in June. Colonel Ava is assisting me as Ground Forces Commander.”
The God Mars Book Three: The Devil You Are Page 3