The God Mars Book Three: The Devil You Are (29 page)

And he should
never
have attacked a food
caravan.

His men have already found his body by the time we
fly over the tapsite. We knew they’d have to stop and refill on
their retreat. Their leader is already there to meet them. Stripped
naked. Decapitated. And emasculated just to make it clear who did
the deed. They wail at the sky. Wail at us as we fly over. Fire off
a few impotent rounds. Then rush to get themselves the oxygen
they’ll need to run home. If they somehow forgot where they hid
their camp, all they have to do is head for the smoke.

There’s no sign of Chang come flying to their rescue.
(If Bly was truthful, he can’t, not yet. He’s too busy plundering
his “allies” in northern Melas to rebuild his flying fortress.)

The smoke looks like it’s from shelters. I can see at
least a dozen still smoldering. Aziz had his camp in an ancient
arroyo; out of sight, but low ground if he found himself overrun.
He was counting on his sentries for warning and force of arms to
cover any retreat, push through any attempt at blockade, but he
sent too many of his fighters on their doomed errand. Abbas had no
problem breaking his lines, overrunning the camp.

The mission, as we discussed it, was supposed to be
surgical: Eliminate Aziz for his crimes against the Food Traders,
take their surplus caches of ammo and the food they stole, leave
them with subsistence while they decided what course to take next:
peaceful alliance or war they could no longer hope to win. Sakina
herself was to take Aziz, slip in before the fight, make an example
of him and leave them temporarily leaderless. (It appears she was
successful). The defectors would then try to convince their fellows
of the error of their ways, to go back to Allah, to consider
productive peace. This is the part that doesn’t seem to have gone
so well. I see the bodies to prove it, cut down resisting a
superior force. And I see the bulk of Abbas’ force, already moving
off, careful to disguise their course.

I can’t say I expected that Abbas would just withdraw
if things got ugly. A lifetime ago, Abbas told me that interfering
with the Food Trade was unforgivable, as it puts all the Melas
peoples at risk. Even if it was solely Mohamed Aziz pulling that
trigger, the bulk of his people stood behind him, and apparently
chose to keep standing behind him when Nomad justice came for him.
Or maybe it was just too many old blood debts between the
groups.

I tell Bel to fly ahead, to meet me back at Abbas’
camp. He looks at me like he knows I’m about to do something
stupidly noble, but lets me without argument, just a weak smile and
nod.

I land in the ruin of Aziz’s camp.

I find the dead include women and children. But I
also find tracks: several dozen escaped, and it looks like Abbas
let them run. They took what they could, and Abbas left little else
behind of value.

I’m wandering that scene when the warriors make it
back from the tapsite, back from defeat to worse.

Some of them fall to their knees and wail. Others
take positions on the high ground, aim their weapons at me. I let
them. I turn to face them. Wait for them to shoot.

They do. First a few, then most of them. They’re good
shots, a necessity when ammunition is scarce, but they waste at lot
of bullets against my armor. (I wonder if this is the same “test”
they gave Brimstone. If so, they should already know the result.)
Then they use up some of their remaining grenades and rockets. I
either weather the shockwaves and shrapnel storms or swat them
away. But the fact that they can’t hurt me actually starts making
me feel
less
for them, as if they’re nothing.
Inconsequential.

Still, I let them expend some of their rage. When
they finally wind down (or at least decide they need whatever they
haven’t shot at me), I still stand there. Repair and absorb. I
don’t bother to say anything to them, don’t make a plea for peace
or reason. I just point in the direction their fellows retreated
in, up the arroyo toward the South Rim. Then I turn away, climb up
the rise out of their former camp, get back on my flyer and leave
them to make their own decisions.

Small comfort: There is no “party”.

The return from the raid is all urgent business:
tending to the wounded, mourning the dead and preparing the bodies
for burial, securing and distributing what was taken. It’s all
somber and professional (except for those who cry over the fallen).
No celebrating.

“Your friend lost seven of his people,” Murphy
reports when I find him. “Twelve more have serious wounds. I think
we killed thirty of them before they fled. We brought two of their
wounded back with us when they were left behind.”

I notice his use of “we”. I know he and Two Gun and
Mak (because she insisted on meeting the Nomads, and Kali gave her
approval) went along on the raid. His uniform is dusty under his
borrowed cloaks. I see Two Gun—he also seems intact—but not
Mak.

“Where’s Makenzie?” I ask him, concerned.

“Went with the Ghaddar. They seemed to get along
nicely.”

Sakina isn’t back yet, but she would have had the
longer route home. I wonder what Mak thought of her “signature”,
and if they were still getting along.

“Any trouble with the stragglers?” Bel asks me.

“Not really,” I tell him. “Hopefully my message was
understood: Revenge would be a waste of what little they have left.
Maybe healing some of their wounded will open the way for more
productive relations.”

“It depends on who their next leader is,” Bel has
little faith.

“Colonel Ram!” Abbas calls to me. He approaches us,
his son by his side. And then does something entirely surprising:
He embraces me like he used to, like a brother. I realize a large
number of his people are watching intently. “Your friends from
Tranquility are impressive fighters. We thank God to have had them
with us today.”

Two Gun reaches into his armored jacket, removes a
necklace of carved bone beads and shell casings, offers it to
Abbas.

“You may trade with my people directly. This will
identify your traders. Approach openly from the north. I respected
those people who traded with us. You have given me a gift, to allow
me to be a part of avenging them.”

Abbas grasps his forearm, then gives him a brotherly
hug.

“Let this be the beginning of a long alliance between
our peoples,” Abbas hopes.

I see Murphy look uncomfortable. I realize he’s in no
position to make any bargains on behalf of his own people without
consulting with them first. But he’s admirably taken the first
steps at productive relations with other groups, an example his
“Council” will hopefully follow.

Mak and Sakina make it back to camp within the hour.
Mak is thoroughly dusty and winded but appears energized as she
scrambles down the shield slopes to join us. She embraces Two Gun
like she hasn’t seen him in a long time, and they go off together
to share stories of the fight.

Sakina hangs back on the crest, watching Mak go back
to her friends. Then she locks eyes with me. Gives me a nod—I’m not
sure about what, exactly. Then she turns and walks away.

A small victory, perhaps.

12 May, 2117:

“I’m afraid your good deed kind of backfired,
Colonel,” I get another flash file from Anton just before dawn.
“UNCORT is using the video we got of the Brimstone fight to study
you and the other hybrids in action. We tried to recover
Brimstone’s remains, but they broke down like a Disc, left only the
meat, which was pretty nasty... Some of the UNMAC bigwigs are
making quite the stink about your friend, and not just that there’s
one more out there like you. Probably didn’t help that he told the
Nomads that he’s Satan... The fact that you saved our asses and our
base is getting pretty thoroughly overlooked. They’re just not
buying that you’re not the bad guy here—this from the folks who
aren’t getting that they
are
the bad guy here, at least as
far as a lot of the locals are concerned.”

He sounds hushed and rushed, and there are obvious
editing pauses in his recording, like he needs to frequently
re-check that he’s not being detected.

“We did take the intel on Pioneer Colony to heart and
did a flyover. Almost half of the visible structures are stripped.
And we saw a lot of bodies laid out, like there’d been a battle. Or
a massacre. Then our flights started drawing fire... No sign of
Chang’s flying base—we even risked a run up into Candor. Nada.
Though we are still picking up sporadic gunfire at Industry… Going
theory is Chang’s behavior has caused a split among his allies—he
may have a rebellion on his hands, assuming he hasn’t just
slaughtered the offenders already.”

I assume this is his way of dropping a hint, nudging
me to get on the PK issue before UNMAC does something tragic, or
before I miss a potential window of opportunity: coming to the
rescue of an anti-Chang uprising.

“Colonel Ava’s been treated to a fresh round of
grilling based on what they’ve seen you and your satanic friend do,
not that she has anything to tell them... She still insists she can
handle it, keeps telling the rest of us to just go about our
business. She seems to be dealing, though I can’t imagine how. I
can only hope something will change things… That’s it for now.
Gotta go. I’ll be in touch…”

And I’m hit with a fresh wave of frustration,
impotent anger, and guilt that I’ve put her in that hell.

I need to keep busy. I need to do something worth
doing.

Bel, Paul and I fly out just after sunrise, not
caring if we’re seen. (I’m actually almost hoping for a
confrontation, just to give Burns a turn at feeling helpless.)
Despite their complaints, I insist Murphy, Two Gun and Mak stay
home—Bel disables their flyers to guarantee there’ll be no stubborn
foolishness. They’re all eager to encounter new peoples, encouraged
by their experiences with the Nomads (whether that means diplomacy
or combat). Murphy even tries to pull the “ambassador” card (though
he seems the least eager for another fight). So I have to remind
them that the Peacekeepers liberally employ well-hidden snipers to
protect their Keeps, and usually kill all trespassers on sight.
Then I tell them that I hope whatever happens today changes that,
and they will get their chance to go visiting.

I get a smirk from Kali as I go, a silent
confrontation to my lack of faith. Bel and Paul just resign
themselves to the misadventure.

We have to stop to refuel twice before we get to
Industry. We pass by Melas Two unmolested—I’m thinking maybe Burns
would rather we stumble in where he still fears to tread. The
tensest moment on our journey is as we pass in visual range of Blue
Station, Paul’s home. He tells me he isn’t even hearing
transmissions from his people anymore. I wonder what his father
thinks, seeing him with us. I wonder what his father is thinking in
general.

We don’t linger.

I can’t immediately hear gunfire as we approach the
colony, coming up over the ancient slide plateaus. The colony
itself looks no different than the last times I was here: It still
appears completely ruined and uninhabited. Smashed and holed Hab
domes, the buried and crushed Fabs. But I can see the heat of life,
buried deep under the ruin, and the faint glow of a few armored
sentries in the wreckage and surrounding slide slopes (though not
as many as I’d expect, based on those previous visits).

I try to remember the GPR images we took of the
underground “burrows”, an anthill maze of tunnels and caves dug
under the ruin, built to defy worst-case invasion or even
bombardment. I expect we’d find a way in, heavily guarded,
somewhere inside the unoccupied surface structures. But even
getting to them will mean walking through fire.

Fine.

I lead Bel and Paul down to land in a short walk of
what was “Dome One” in the southwest corner of the colony complex,
the most open approach. Then we send our rides away on remote to
prevent local temptation.

And we promptly do get shot at.

Demonstrating a good sense of priority, they aim for
me first. Demonstrating that they have a sense of what they’re
dealing with, I get shot at by three separate snipers almost
simultaneously. I manage to duck two out of three, but get
seriously grazed by the third, the round smacking the left horn of
my stupid helmet hard enough to wrench it sideways so I can’t see
for a second until I shake it back on straight. They didn’t hold
back, hitting me with something that could have taken down a UNMAC
ASV—I get flashed damage reports as my helmet starts to heal
itself. At least I manage to keep standing despite seriously
getting my bell rung, and try to shrug it off as gracefully as
possible (even though I have to re-locate my cervical spine).

Bel and Paul don’t bother with the toughness demos
and simply vaporize the rounds meant for them. Our welcoming party
hesitates. I can hear Link chatter, calling for orders. Then I hear
a call go out: A situation report, and a request for urgent
assistance. I expect that means Chang. I don’t hear a reply. Still,
I decide to hack in and disable their communications, just to put
them further on edge.

My jamming them triggers something unexpected. I can
hear gunfire and explosions from somewhere deep beneath our feet.
Sporadic. Like a skirmish. Or a siege.

“Where is that coming from?” Paul hears it too. Bel
looks like he’s trying to see through the ground. At least what’s
going on down there—or our bizarre behavior as we’re suddenly more
interested in the rocks than the colony—has stopped them shooting
at us.

Bel wanders off roughly west, then northwest,
then…

“Here,” he points to a patch of ground. Then another,
further off. “Over there, too. And there.”