The God Mars Book Three: The Devil You Are

by Michael Rizzo

  “For a fugitive,” she admits wryly. “Necessary theatre.”

  Her own brother officially denied her to UNMAC, insisted that she alone was responsible for their attempts to acquire ETE tech, as well as the “experiments” we became aware of when her “test subjects” tried to take on Brimstone and failed at the deserted Zodangan stronghold.

  “And turning your people over to UNMAC for processing and relocation?” I get to what Anton flashed me yesterday:

  On the eve of General Richards arrival, the Shinkyo called out for “relief”, Daimyo Hatsumi agreeing to all terms. There were three hundred and two colonists still living in the Shinkyo Colony site, “left behind” after the ETE responded to Shinkyo attempts to attack their Stations and steal their technology (even if it meant taking the ETE as living samples, or at least amputated parts of them), after the shinobi force had been driven to hidden fallback positions in the slopes of the Dragon’s Tail range. Hatsumi asked UNMAC to take these people in, claimed they were all that was left of his colony, opened the site to UNCORT inspection to prove they were no longer engaging in any kind of nanotech manufacturing (and certainly not any hybridizing experiments with what they had stolen from the ETE—that was a “rogue element”, overseen by the “traitorous” Sakura, who supposedly ran with a few loyalists to avoid paying for her “crimes”).

  “We were simply copying your brilliant strategy with the Industry PK,” she praises like a circling predator. “It is a poor adversary who falls for the same ploy twice.”

  “You assume that UNMAC command doesn’t suspect your gesture.”

  “I’m sure your former survivor-allies do, but their new commanders are blinded and deafened by their own egos, egos easily inflated by victories they can play up to the rest of cowering humanity back on Earth.”

  I rein in my simmering anger. Yes, she (because her brother is probably just her figurehead) used my strategy, taking advantage of Earthside’s dire need for symbolic successes. But I’m sure her motive is less about getting her vulnerable people out of harm’s way, or even intelligence gathering, than it is about getting her shinobi—certainly hidden among her civilians—close enough for mayhem on command.

  I can’t fault her for doing so. I can’t even feel sympathy for Earthside for what they’ve potentially set themselves up for. But she’s putting my friends—my former people still on the ground—directly in that crossfire.

  (I remember what happened when I was stupid enough to try to trap four of her shinobi inside the Melas Two bunker, confident that I had the advantage of numbers and weapons. I can’t even imagine what a dozen, or a hundred, could do in such proximity to UNMAC’s primary foothold on this planet.)

  “You know your people will be closely watched, contained,” I praise her coolly. “You know they may never gain enough trust for access to critical systems. Perhaps they might get a shot at key personnel, depending on their pride. But you won’t show your hand just for some impulsive attack. You have a long game in mind. As you always do.”

  “You are still you, Colonel Ram,” she returns my compliments, “at least in all the important ways.”

  I give her a flash of a grin.

  “And we can have this conversation because you know Earthside Command considers me an enemy, not be trusted.”

  “With good reason,” she condemns gently. “Besides their fear of what you are, what else are you keeping from them that they should be afraid of? Your friend who fancies himself a devil? The flame-haired demon that protects Tranquility?” she hints at the extent of her intel. “More? Can you make warriors and war machines like Chang? Convert human flesh into weapon? Or will you consume it to make yourself stronger, whenever you have need?”

  Apparently I need to talk to Two Gun and Murphy about our perimeter security. If the Shinkyo offer this information to UNMAC, even without proof, Earthside will believe worse. And Tranquility will become a priority target.

  “Is there some bargain you’re here to make?” I prod her.

  “You came to us. What do you want?” she seduces like ice.

  “To warn you that you’re on the wrong path. This can only end badly for your people.”

  “Then help us.”

  She steps forward. Within arm’s reach. Fearless. Even as I look at her like she’s an amusing insect.

  “You have made others like you, from you. So you already know what I want.”

  I grin again. She remains stoic, but then I can’t see her eyes, her expression; only her body language, all discipline.

  “A deal with the devil?” I taunt her. “You don’t understand the cost of the bargain. The process, assuming I can replicate it at will, will replace you with someone else. You will no longer be Hatsumi Sakura. You will no longer be Shinkyo. Just your meat. I’m told the process is unimaginably excruciating for a living person. Not the pain. The consuming of your mind. Whatever strength of will you think you have… You could no more resist it than you could resist a bullet to the brain.”

  She does an impressive job of appearing to digest the news like she expected it, prepared for it. Even her masked bodyguards don’t visibly react to the idea that I might impulsively overwrite their mistress into an unstoppable enemy.

  “There must be a way,” she tries to insist. “To recode the technology, preserve the host, like Chang has with his agents.”

  “I’m not Chang. And I’ve already erased one life I held dear,” I tell her honestly.

  “You do not refuse to try because you care for me,” she discounts, almost sounding hurt, but it’s all part of her game.

  “But I do respect you, despite some of our prior difficulties.”

  “Polite as always,” she says like she’s subtly insulting me. “Even though you would leave us defenseless against Chang.”

  “I doubt I would ever use the word ‘defenseless’ to describe any Shinkyo.”

  She acknowledges my left-handed compliment with a little nod.

  “Our options are limited,” she admits after a pause. “Both Chang and Earthside will be certain that our ‘refugees’ are not the entirety of our population, and they will seek us out, even if they do believe what remains is only a small radicalized element on the run. Convincing the Earth commanders that we were cooperating, even grateful for rescue, did allow us to place agents close enough to the UN operations command to keep us apprised of their movements. But we were not able to do the same with Chang.”

  “You tried?” I’m almost surprised.

  “The price of acceptance into his Joint Independence Force is full disclosure: the locations of all of our resources and facilities. When our agents withheld that information, they were tortured and executed.”

  “And simple deception didn’t work?” I’m wondering how Chang suddenly got smart enough to see deception past his own ambition. (It’s probably my fault.)

  “He has an ally. A golden-haired beauty. She can read the intent of both men and women, detect lies, influence them to reveal themselves.”

  Astarte. Which means she’s playing her role even at the cost of human lives, or she’s turned. Or maybe she just sees the Shinkyo as another dangerous enemy, so getting them killed is no cost at all. I try to imagine how what we’ve become—or what this world has become—has changed her.

  “Our only defense against Chang is hiding under mountains,” she distills her distress. “And that is only temporary. His railgun can burst those mountains. All he needs is time and no other resistance, and he will blast us from our holes, scatter us and hunt us down. Then he will pursue the other races, exterminating them in turn if they do not truly choose loyalty. We only ask for tools to better fight this monster, and, in turn, protect the other peoples of Mars from him.”

  “And who protects them from you?”

  “You do, if you join with us,” she doesn’t hesitate, probably having rehearsed this sale for many days.

  “If you become a greater threat than a ‘small radicalized element on the run,’ Earthsi
de will come after you as lethally as Chang. More so, since they’ll eventually control orbit.”

  “As they will surely come after you, as soon as they can,” she turns it. “Hiding in a garden full of innocent primitives will not stop their bombs if they are afraid enough. You know this. So will you run, hide, live like we are? Forever? How long until they control the whole planet? Ten years? Twenty? A lifetime for me, but an instant for you.”

  “Filling a planet with monsters won’t encourage Earth to go away,” I insist. “Just the opposite, in fact.”

  “But you also know it is always better to negotiate from a position of superior strength.”

  “It is always best to negotiate when both parties can benefit from the agreement.”

  This does make her hesitate. She’s been thinking in terms of conflict for too long, likely all her life. Raised to be a warrior, a warlord, and nothing else.

  “You have rifles trained on me,” I tell her what else I know. “Nine hundred meters out. New experiments. Shall we test your negotiating position?”

  She doesn’t respond, but I can feel her guards tense, coil. I know she’s wired to signal her snipers to fire, but she doesn’t. She does nothing. Too bad I’ve grown impatient. And I want to know what they’ve been working on.

  They’ve taken precautions to protect their coms from hacks, of course, but it’s a simple enough matter to send a more basic kind of signal. I draw my sword in less than the blink of an eye, hold it low off to my right side, perfectly still.

  Impressively, Sakura doesn’t so much as flinch. I’m sure she knows I could have cut her in half in that eye blink. But her guards react. Their PDWs lock on me. I take the moment of tension to morph my blade into something more appropriate for the occasion.

  The last time I faced Hatsumi’s personal guard, I actually managed to almost hold my own with a blade (and a little help from Paul), but I still wound up needing to be carried away and stitched back together (in some very embarrassing places). And I realize Sakura is intently studying everything I do, probably recording it for her research team, but I can’t resist the opportunity for a constructive lesson.

  I toss my sword straight to my left hand, and in the time it takes to make the journey I draw my pistol and pop a round into each one of their gun barrels, bursting their weapons. Only two of them managed to fire back, but couldn’t hope to track my movement.

  The snipers take their cue, but even at almost a thousand meters per second, I have plenty of time to shift out of the path of their bullets. What surprises me is that the bullets curve to try to pursue me, only I dodged when they were too close to correct enough. The bullets hit the regolith roughly between the Shinobi, but then they burrow in before they explode—some kind of multi-stage projectile. I expect the casings are organic to defeat ETE disintegration fields.

  More rounds come in, but this time I’m better prepared. I gauge my dodge like a dancer, so that when the next bullet curves after me, I send it at one of the shinobi (knowing the angle will send it at his feet—I’m still trying to avoid idle murder). The burrowing delay gives the guard just enough time to avoid losing some toes or worse when it blows. I cut the next one even closer, try to catch it in flight, but it proves too slippery, so I only manage to swat it, making another shinobi jump.

  Sakura barks a hold-fire order into her channel, then steps back smoothly, a signal to her close guard. They draw swords and charge in well-practiced order, perfectly choreographed. They have to know that if I can dodge a bullet, even their fastest swordsmen are a slow waltz. (I wonder how they would have done against Bug. I actually have time to think of that before they cross the gap. They’re probably wondering why I look like I’m daydreaming in the middle of a brawl.)

  Not wanting to bisect bodies for the sake of an idle demonstration, my nanoblade has become what the classical Chinese would call a “hard whip”, or a “steel ruler”: a square edged heavy rod favored by guards and sergeants-at-arms, an implement of punishment. Of course, the Chinese idea of “punishment” during that era went far beyond a flogging…

  In a flash of metal and limbs, I shatter two swords and send three more flying out of gloved hands; break two legs, three arms and an unknown number of ribs (and one unfortunate tailbone). In the barest few seconds, Sakura’s guards are in no condition to fight (though I have to break another hand when one stubborn soul tries to reach for a grenade). But all are alive, and probably reparable, though I’m sure they’d rather I had used a live blade than humiliate them with a blunted sword. (And I know they may still end themselves, once they’re capable of holding a blade again, unless their lady forbids the ritual.)

  Sakura still looks unfazed. I step through her broken fighters, wanting to see if she wants to try me herself, and she just stands there, letting me come. Unfortunately, one of her snipers fears for her life enough to defy her hold-fire. I “play” the tracking bullet so that it curves just wrong, flies for Sakura’s center-of-mass, then shatter it with a swat of my blunt blade. All she would have seen was a full-body blur and something almost invisible smacking the projectile less than three feet from her chest, making a hypersonic whip-crack that I’m sure she felt.

  Nothing. I just spared her life, and she could just as well be a statue. I wonder if she intended that, planned for her sniper to shoot at her just to see if I would save her, to prove… what? Would she really risk her life on an idle gamble? (Or is she wearing armor capable of stopping these rounds under her neat robes?) (Or was she hoping to be injured just critically enough that I would be pressured to save her by giving her my healing tech?) Trying to understand Shinkyo planning has always been a multi-layered mind fuck. (I want to rip off her lenses and mask, I want to see what’s under there, just to get any kind of honest reaction out of her.)

  “Have you seen enough?” I want to know. But then I pick up on what she’s feeding into her implanted Link gear: her lenses include high-speed cameras. She’s recorded my performance, slowed it down to visible. She’s replaying it in her eyes as she sends it to her nano-engineers. I expect they’ll use what they see to improve their counter-measures (which is why I didn’t use any mods beyond basic strength enhancement and neuro-acceleration). So all she really knows is I can process and react at bullet-speed.

  “You don’t trust our intentions,” she says dully, probably still distracted by the replay running in her visual field. “Yet you spared my life, however impulsively. I will give you a gift in return. Go to your old base. Go and see.”

  I realize blood is dripping on the rusty gravel at her feet. Hers. She’s bleeding. Probably a stray fragment of the bullet I smashed. She’s completely ignoring it. A small price to pay to manipulate me, setting the stage for a “gift” she fully intended to give long before today.

  I turn and walk away, summon my flyer, leap to meet it. I take a circle of the mess I’ve just left. Sakura watches me for a few seconds, then turns to her broken men. She steps over to the one who tried to use a grenade. Without ceremony, she draws her blade, makes a single cut across the shinobi’s throat that looks like it takes his head mostly off. I can see his body convulse briefly as the head flops unnaturally. Then the masked form settles, blood soaking the sand a darker red. Sakura wipes her sword and puts it away. Then she leaves the others as they are and starts walking for the Dragon’s Tail. She doesn’t look back once.

  “Cold bitch,” Kali assesses after I flash my memories of the odder-than-usual interaction with Hatsumi Sakura. “I almost like her.”

  “You can’t leave us out of this one,” Bel protests. Both are sitting lazily back in two of the plush “thrones” Bel furnished our temporary “base” with. The buried ruin of the Tranquility spaceport has cleaned up nicely. The layered polycarbonate transparency that Paul remolded to refit the pillbox-style viewports gives us natural light, even though the facility is still completely hidden under rock and wild plant life. Inside, we have heat, light, atmosphere, a repaired food processor (which we rarely use unless
severely in need of resource replenishment), “handmade” furnishings, and respective workspaces for Bel, Paul and Azazel. It also gives us some distance from the Tranquility population, which reduces their incidental appearance as human shields while also reducing their simmering discomfort at our growing “team” of superhumans.

  “And not just because we really need the change of scenery,” Lux concurs, in her female aspect, wrapped affectionately around Azazel from behind, idly stroking his thick hair with delicate fingers as he examines the sniper rifle that Bel took from one of the Shinkyo while they were too busy watching me fly off.

  I still find Lux’s at-will gender-switching a little unsettling, mostly because I’m never sure which pronoun to use. When he’s in armor, she’s so androgynous that it’s hard to tell at first glance where his mood lies from day-to-day. The first indicator is usually the scent she emits, probably intentionally: When she’s male, he smells like a man fresh out of a quick shower after a hard workout; when he’s female, she smells like what my heterosexual male tastes would identify as sex, which tends to prove extremely distracting. And while I pride myself on being accepting and open-minded despite my own strictly heterosexual orientation, I still get thrown for a moment (or several) after she’s tried throwing herself—usually naked and musky with arousal—at me or Azazel as a fit, lean young woman, and then I walk in on her another day pursuing Bel or Kali as a thin yet well-endowed young man.

  “The question is, what’s the nature of her trap?” Paul considers from prior experience. “It’s probably not whatever it appears to be on the surface. Or even the next two layers below that surface.”

  “Was she actually hoping you’d fuck her into immortality?” Lux spins, sounding like he’s considering taking the opportunity to make Sakura an offer. I don’t bother to speculate for her.

  “The rifle is a conventional fifty caliber bullpup,” Azazel reins in the digression, demonstrating his intimacy with all instruments of violence, and fabrication in general. “New manufacture, probably within the last few years. But there have been some very recent modifications, specifically a control unit to program and guide these smart bullets. The design of the shell is very amusing. Initially, I would assume it was indeed designed to deal with the ETE, to penetrate their defenses and do the most damage to a reinforced and rapidly-repairing body, especially if they were hoping to take off a limb in hopes of studying the nano-mods in still-living tissue. The interesting part is that the control unit has an option to trigger ranged airburst. They could just as well have blown these shells as you dodged them, battered you even with a near miss…”