The God Mars Book Three: The Devil You Are (5 page)

“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.”

“Who’s running Melas Three?” I really want to
know.

“Lieutenant Colonel Jackson,” he decides to tell me.
“From my Lead Team. He’s also an ace pilot. He’ll be in charge of
getting aerial patrols going, leading the search for Chang, and for
other survivors. For outreach.” The last part sounded particularly
creepy.

“What happened to the Nomad camp?” I turn the
interrogation on him. “I didn’t see it on the hike in.”

He doesn’t answer, and Lisa and Halley don’t look
comfortable speaking in his presence. But they both give me hard
looks, like the news is bad.

“What’s happened while I’ve been gone?”

“That’s no longer any of your concern,” he finally
tells me where I stand. “Consider yourself medically relieved of
all duties, until further notice.”

That’s funny, because medical leave should be
determined by a physician, not him. And Halley looks as stunned by
his proclamation as Lisa is.

“Can I get out of here?”

“That will need to be discussed up the ladder,” he
deflects like it’s not worth his time.

“Can I at least get something to eat?”

He almost seethes at my small defiance.

“Get the man some breakfast,” he tells no one, then
turns and marches out.

Deemed safe enough to at least be on the other side
of an isolation barrier with, the reunions come like I’m some
deeply emotional zoo display, as the people I’ve connected to file
into the observation area to capacity.

“They really can’t kill you, can they?” Rick jokes,
probably happier to see me than he’s ever been.

“Do you have any idea how much you scared us?” Tru is
in full tears, pressing her hand to the transparency.
“Asshole.”

“It’s good to see you, Colonel,” Anton doesn’t seem
sure how to express it (or maybe he’s worried about something he
can’t say). Still, he looks like he could leap out of his
chair.

“It’s
damn
good to see you, sir.” Rios.

“You have
no
idea,” Kastl actually almost
gushes. Then catches himself, glances up at the sentry array
watching us. Everyone goes uncomfortably quiet. I let them know I
get it by looking directly into the cameras and giving a big fake
smile. Burns is probably watching, probably sending every second
back to his Earthside masters for scrutiny.

“What happened to your ‘bodyguard’?” Lisa gets back
to questions. She’s slid to the back of the group, so they can’t
see her trying not to cry.

“No idea,” I get back to partial truths. “No sign of
her when I came to.”

“You think this ‘Ra’ did something to her?” Rios
wants to know. I remember how he and Sakina had bonded.

I shake my head. “I don’t think so. I don’t
know.”

“Earthside thinks this is all some ETE plot,” Tru
decides to damn discretion. “They think Chang is one of theirs. And
Ra. Some big game to keep Earth off their planet.”

“Easier than accepting that someone has scarier tech
than the ETE do,” Anton figures.

“One enemy versus two,” Rick condenses.

“Let the man
eat
,” Doc Ryder comes in with a
tray, slides it through the glove-box into my transparent cell.
It’s all fresh-grown and homemade. Fruit. Bread. Martian hummus.
Except for the coffee—probably part of recent shipments. I use the
exam table for a breakfast table, eat standing up bar-style.
Everything tastes great—at least that hasn’t been dulled.
(Actually, I think my skin has gotten closer to normal in
sensitivity since I came inside. I expect it has something to do
with temperature and pressure. I keep checking my reflection in the
transparency to make sure I still look old-me.)

“So. What did I miss?” I make it sound like an idle
question.

It’s definitely not. They all look deeply
uncomfortable. I watch them struggle to find something “safe” to
say.

“How did the fight go?” I try for something I figure
is relatively harmless. “I hate missing the end of stuff like
that.”

“I got shot,” Rios matches the lightness of my
tone.

“In the leg,” Ryder details. “Then he landed on it
when he got knocked off Chang’s ship. He’s lucky he still has
it.”

“I’m fine, sir,” he assures. “Just trying to catch up
with all your scars. The plan went off like clockwork. You saw the
first parts: The Shinkyo took out Chang’s support ships, kamikaze’d
his railgun, napalmed his staging deck. Total chaos. Then our
ground forces popped up and started pounding his batteries—his guns
were the only part of the ship we could hurt. Then while he was
busy chasing them, our boarding group got under him, shot lines. We
almost took the ship, but then Chang got his shit together and got
into the fight himself. I felt like we got hit with a tsunami-sized
firehose. He literally swept us off the decks, then made a run for
it when the ETE moved in on him. Toothless. And most of his
conscripts dead or down.”

“Looks like you didn’t need me after all,” I give
him.

“You’re the one that made it happen, sir,” he won’t
let me off. Or maybe he just wants it on record.

“How many did we lose?” I need to know.

“Ninety-eight total,” Tru lets me know when everybody
else gets quiet again. “Including Knights, Nomads and Shinkyo.”

“Jill Metzger,” Lisa gives me at least one meaningful
loss. “And her crew when AirCom got hit.”

“Any idea where Chang crawled to?” I stay on
tactical, wanting to hit back.

“Kicked up one of his storms, then hacked into the
Atmosphere Net, ramped up the EMR all through Coprates so we
couldn’t track him from space,” Anton takes it. “Had some trick so
even the ETE couldn’t see him. When the noise faded, there was no
sign of him. And nothing since. Command thinks he may have buried
himself, like the way the ETE dug out Shinkyo Colony. Too bad we
don’t have good enough before-and-after mapping to compare for
terrain changes.”

“Do we think he has a base somewhere, or just the big
ship?”

I get shrugs and head shakes, but this doesn’t feel
like a taboo topic.

“We know he moved all of Zodanga and at least one PK
colony,” Kastl tries. “I doubt they all fit on the ship. I’d have a
home base somewhere.”

“Any action at the other PK sites?”

“Dead quiet,” Kastl tells me.

“Earthside is pushing for a confrontation as soon as
we’ve got the resources,” Rios dares a potentially forbidden
subject. “Show of force. Demand they surrender their sites,
starting with Industry.”

“That’ll go over well,” I grumble. “And assuming they
just lay down arms, then what?”

I feel another uncomfortable subject coming on.

Tru finally speaks up:

“They want to round everybody up, all the survivors,
get them into camps. ‘For their own wellbeing.’” She keeps her tone
remarkably level, probably not wanting to sound like the Eco leader
that she is. “Full screening. Make sure they’re clean of anything
scary. Then probably systematic evacuation to Earth, once the
Quarantine lifts.”

“And if they don’t want to go?” I ask the obvious
boiling question.

“Earthside is considering it a mandate for
interplanetary safety and security,” Rick reads me what I assume is
the official line. “They want to make sure no one is carrying
anything dangerous, nano or bio. Then they want them away from here
until Earthside can resolve the threats on-planet. Then they’ll
consider repatriation or re-colonization.”

“But the survivor descendants don’t get their lands
back,” Tru cuts. “Unless it’s some kind of reservation system.”

“And if they don’t want to go?” I have to repeat the
question, at least for the benefit of the audience back “home”.

“I’m not sure some of them
can
go,” Halley
gives me another concern. “Some of them have been practicing what
they call their ‘weight discipline’, and the PK say they have
centrifuges, but we’re still talking lifetimes in fractional
gravity. The ones that haven’t bothered… They won’t be able to
tolerate Earth gravity. It would be like us at three Gs with
advanced osteoporosis.”

“They’ll be stuck in space,” Tru distills it.

“Or maybe a Moon colony,” Rick adds a
no-more-appealing option.

“Is that why the Nomads are gone?” I guess.

“Demand One: Surrender all weapons,” Tru catches me
up. “Demand Two: Relocate for invasive examination and holding. The
Knights left right after the Nomads did. And they turned off the
Link gear we gave them”

I take a deep breath. Let it out slow and long.

“Do we still have any contact with the ETE?”

“None.” Lisa risks letting me know. “Not since Burns
and Jackson sent them an absolute: Turn over all technology and
allow full access to all Stations for inspection and examination of
all personnel. We haven’t seen them outside their Stations since.
That was six weeks ago.”

“And the Shinkyo?”

“Got the same demand list. They’ve gone totally
quiet. Invisible.”

“Tranquility’s also on the ‘inspect and secure’
list,” Rick adds. Tranquility will be even messier than a PK
site…

They all sound angry, crushed, hopeless. Probably
wishing we’d never called home.

“Earthside got us two refitted ASVs and two of their
new light AAVs,” Kastl gives me a resource report. “Battery guns
are back online at both bases. Ammo is partially replenished. And
food stocks and medical supplies—they sent more than we needed,
figuring we’d be taking in evacuees.”

Except everyone’s run away from us.

“We’ll have a lot more by June,” Lisa continues for
him. “Including personnel and pilots. We have a few satellites up,
and the beginnings of a space dock. The June missions will try to
restore Phobos. There’ll be more on the way after that.”

Devastating for the survivor factions. But not a damn
thing they can use to any real effect against Chang. Which means
more of the survivors may be drawn to him. He at least tells them
they’ll get to keep their homes (even though he’s already gutted
Zodanga and Frontier for his war effort).

I’m already thinking the unthinkable: In order to fix
this, in order to save Mars for the people who live here, I’m going
to have to become another version of Chang. I’m going to have to
fight Earth.

The rest of the day passes as a series of visits
through transparent polycarbonate (since Burns won’t allow Halley
to release me from Iso). I feel very much like a prisoner. Or a
disease vector. But I am grateful for the company, and the displays
of happiness that I’m not as dead as everyone was getting around to
accepting.

Smith gets away from AirCom, lets me know he’s still
flying, just rotating shifts on the screens. Aircom itself has been
relocated to the Aux facility on A-Deck, just below where the tower
got blown away, where AirCom used to be before they built the squat
“tower” above ground. Apparently the same relocations have occurred
with Ops and Melas Three’s Tower: Both are down below ground in
their backup facilities. Topside, the port shields are kept open
and lights left on to tempt Chang to take a potshot with his
railgun (assuming he’s repaired it) and reveal his location. Smith
complains they haven’t let him fly one of the new ships yet, and
the cocky new pilots treat him like a semi-famous relic (even
though they’ve never once seen combat).

Jane and Acaveda take their turns at visiting, also
consigned to AirCom watches and not allowed in the driver’s seats
of the new toys. I get involuntary eye rolls and voluntary changes
of subject when I ask about Lieutenant Colonel Jackson. They do
their best to keep it professional, but it’s clear there’s some
friction going.

Thomas comes by with another “great to have you back
and not dead sir” speech, and Morales brings me a card with specs
on the new aircraft: They are a lot sleeker and smaller—shaped
roughly like an old Phantom jet—and lack the hull turrets of their
predecessors: all gun pods and launchers are wing-mounted. These
are fighters and recon ships, not utility craft.

The fact that she can show me specs—that MAI allows
it, without me forcing the issue—is a good sign. I must not be
considered an intel risk. Or maybe Burns is letting me see how
strong they are, hoping I’ll pass it along to my secret ETE
masters.

Ryder comes in, suits up, and checks my “scars”
personally—it’s the first time that anyone has laid hands on me,
even through thick gloves. My cosmetic work is apparently good
enough to convince her that the wounds are real, and she makes a
crack about the quality of the suturing, and how I should always
come to her for this sort of thing, not some amateur in a silly
bird costume.

Lisa stays with me the whole day, even as the others
come and go. She doesn’t say much, unless there’s someone else’s
conversation to participate in. Tru brings us both lunch, then
makes a show of letting us be alone (like we’re going to have sex
through several inches of reinforced polycarb with cameras
connected to Burns on us). We don’t say a word to each other while
we eat.

Burns himself comes back after lunch is done. He
dismisses Lisa to give us some one-on-one time.

“I guess you’ve decided it’s safe enough to be on the
other side of an Iso from me,” I open with a nudge.

“Doctor Halley continues to insist you’re clean
enough, Colonel,” he stays dry.

“But you don’t buy my story.”

He doesn’t answer, just stares like he’s waiting for
something, and has better places to be.