The God Mars Book Three: The Devil You Are (15 page)

“You’re going to destroy the Lower Dome to convince
your enemies that there’s nothing here?” I distill.

“Rules of Order are in effect,” Palmer cautions me,
testing my willingness to defy their rituals. “Do not speak out of
turn.”

Murphy stands.

“What will be the impact on resources if the gardens
are destroyed?”

I’m initially disappointed that his first question
isn’t about killing all of the Cast, but then I see where he may be
going: Gardener puts up its calculations. Over a hundred colonists
would have to be culled within the following months to maintain
sustainability. The Hall is absolutely silent, struck numb. (I
wonder how they would react if Gardener showed the names of those
it was planning to eliminate for the greater good.)

“This would not be Casting,” Palmer makes a poor
effort. “This would be merciful termination.”

I make a poor effort to observe their rules, holding
up my hand like a schoolboy.

“The Outsider may speak with respect,” Murphy allows
me before Palmer can protest.

“UNMAC has already seen your H-K,” I let them know.
“The cameras on those suits of armor were still live when you took
them. And the ETE have confirmed that your feed lines are drawing
resources. Even if you found a way to do without the oxygen, water
and fuel coming in, UNMAC has been using ground-penetrating sonar
to discover buried facilities—yours isn’t the only colony that’s
tried to hide. They believe this place could be a source of deadly
nanotech or biotech infection—they will dig you out even if they
think you’re all dead, just to be sure.”

“But it may convince this ‘Chang’ you tell of to
leave us be,” Palmer defends a plan he’s apparently fully behind.
“You say he only wants food and manpower. He will find neither. And
then he will move on to engage the Unmakers. They will be too busy
to come digging for us. Perhaps he will even defeat them, if he is
a powerful as you say.”

I hold up my hand again. It seems to annoy him.

“Speak.”

“And what future does that give you? You’ve managed
to survive for half-a-century, maintain a society. Hiding under a
mountain with no outside gardens… How long will you last?”

I wait for Gardener to put up more cold calculations,
but it doesn’t. The screen stays blank. I tell them why:

“As is, your systems will fail within a decade. I’ve
accessed Gardener. Your colony is dying. You need outside help to
stay alive.”

“ORDER VIOLATION,” Gardener chastises me. “FIRST
WARNING.” Apparently it didn’t like me using the truth as a weapon
any more than Burns did. (Is that the kind of god I’ll be?)

“You will follow the Rules,” Murphy warns me. But
then he sort-of speaks for me again, specifically addressing
Palmer. “The Outsider also knows of us. Has that been
calculated?”

Gardener replays the Lower Dome demolition, this time
zooming in on an almost-funny graphic of a cartoon me
disintegrating in the center of the blasting.

I hold up my hand again, but don’t wait for
acknowledgement.

“I don’t think that will kill me. It will, however,
be quite the setback in our relationship.”

“ORDER VIOLATION. SECOND WARNING.”

“How many do I get?” I devolve to smartass.

“Silence!” Murphy warns me, full-authoritarian, but I
get the impression he really is trying to help me.

An older H-K—his name strip reads “Chan-4”—stands
up.

“Does our bizarre guest have a better solution to
offer?”

I really do appreciate the opening, but I’m still
irritated enough to play obstinate, keeping my silence until I’m
given permission to

“Speak, if you have anything of value to say,” Palmer
is actually the one to insist.

“All right. But first I want to say that I have not
come to judge you. You have done whatever you have done because you
had few to no choices, to survive, and you have. But now you may
have choices. I may be able to advocate for you with UNMAC, get
them to reconsider their plans to take your homes from you. I will
even fight them if necessary. They can provide you supplies,
equipment to repair your systems, restore and increase colony
functioning.

“Another choice may be the ETE. I understand your
impressions of them from past encounters, but they have changed in
response to the new threats to this world. They have the tools and
the skills to help defend you against both UNMAC and Chang. Two of
their Stations are in reasonable proximity. They have also been
willing to provide raw materials from their nano-factories. You
could repair the Lower Dome, improve your living conditions,
expand.”

“Are you supporting the plan to eliminate the Cast
presence?” Chan asks, mildly incredulous.

“I am not,” I tell them. “In the options I’m giving
you, you would have to make peace with the Cast, cooperate with
them. I believe I can help make that possible. You both stand to
benefit, and you both face the same threats. You need to stand
together.”

I get a lot of grumbling from the entire Hall. The
H-Ks seem particularly upset by my suggesting any kind of peace,
enraged. I catch the look on Kim’s face as she glares at me like
I’ve threatened her family, her way of life. Murphy, to his credit,
looks torn. I think I see the same look on a few others, but only a
few. The civilians only look terrified.

I hold up my hand again, and again don’t wait for
permission.

“I will tell you this: If you proceed with the plan
to exterminate the Cast, you will have no assistance from UNMAC or
the ETE, or from me. At best, you will be left to your fates.”

“And at worst?” Chan asks me levelly. “Would you
attack us?”

“As I said: I am willing to accept what you thought
you had to do when you had no better choices. If you choose to keep
killing when you have choices presented to you, then my
understanding will be at an end. At best, you will be left to your
fates. But I will not allow you to commit genocide.”

I guess I’m going to be this kind of god.

The Hall threatens to come apart on me. Even the
generally sheepish civilians are starting to show their outrage.
Some actually get bold enough to come out of their seats. I can
hear panic in their protests. They don’t seem to think the Cast can
be more than brutal animals.

“Rule of Order!” Murphy shouts. (I notice Gardener
doesn’t interrupt the chaos—perhaps it wants its population wound
up.) He manages to get enough volume reduction to confront me
himself: “You threaten to enforce peacemaking on us. What if the
Cast refuse peace?”

He’s trying to be the voice of his people.

“You have the right to defend yourselves, your
families and your homes,” I try to reassure. I realize I sound like
I’m rewriting their laws. “I will help you deal with the Cast. If
they truly won’t accept a truce, then they will have to deal with
me.”

“And if they prove to you what savages they are, will
you help us drive them from our gardens?” Palmer provokes. “Or will
you stay forever—standing between us—to ensure this peace you
want?”

“I can’t answer that until we try,” I tell him for
lack of a proper answer. “I’m only asking that you try.”

Palmer grins in wicked victory, confident I’ve done
the opposite of selling my proposal. The Hall begins rumbling again
as the civilians begin digesting what I’ve threatened them with.
Only the H-K remain stoic (including the families, which is
impressive).

“RULE OF ORDER,” Gardener drones. “DISCUSSION IS
CLOSED.”

“We would like to thank our visitor for his
presentation,” Palmer oozes. “We will take what was said under
consideration while Gardener calculates our best course. Now we
must move on to other pressing business.”

“AGENDA ITEM TWO: CASTING REVIEW. RESOURCE THRESHOLD
EXCEEDED. CANDIDATES FOR REVIEW: PRIMARY: KARA COLE. ALTERNATE:
HAMMOND-8.”

Now the H-K get restless. A few know to look to
Palmer for instigating this. The others seem to quickly pick up the
cue. But the group looks divided on whether this is distressing or
just routine.

The civilian crowd, however, has all gone tense. I
try to find Kara in the masses. Her mother is holding her tightly,
both wide-eyed and trembling. The slight man I assume is her father
sits by them in resigned shock.

Murphy stands.

“The Threshold spike is a result of the presence of
our guest,” he tries. “I propose he should be Cast to restore
balance. Then perhaps he can demonstrate his diplomatic skills with
them.” He locks eyes with me to let me know: his harshness is just
an act. I give him back a slight nod. But Palmer stands back
up:

“The visitor is too high a value, both as potential
asset and threat. We must keep him inside.” This seems to get
majority agreement.

“I’m not sure how you’re going to do that,” I
impulsively interrupt.

“ORDER VIOLATION.”

“Your opinions are not relevant to this Agenda Item,”
Murphy gives the official rule before Palmer can. “You may not
speak to it.”

So I’m left standing watching this. They spend the
next several minutes coldly comparing Kara’s performance scores
against Dory’s recovery prognosis. One particular issue in question
is whether or not Dory is lucid enough to choose voluntary
termination—apparently this decision can’t wait until she is. (Is
the colony that fragile?) I consider leaving by force, trying to
deal with the Cast instead, but I expect Palmer and his cronies
would drum up some other reason to Cast someone (he seems bound and
determined to teach Murphy some kind of lesson).

Palmer even graciously offers to submit one of his
own Protecteds for review if Kara agrees to “enter his service” as
a replacement, because he “sees her potential”. At this point, I
really want to solve their excess population problem in my own way.
But Murphy warned me: an attack on any H-K is an attack on the
whole colony.

Chan finally stands and asks if there are any who
would voluntarily Cast themselves—this sounds like a standard part
of their rituals. After several long seconds, I see Ara force
herself to stand, her daughter still clinging to her. (I also note
the father did not move, his eyes on the deck. Nor did anyone else
stand for this vulnerable little girl. I can almost understand why
the H-K have so much contempt for their own people.)

“Denied,” Palmer shoots down. “Ara Cole’s scores are
much too high.”

To her further credit, Ara doesn’t sit.

I lock eyes with Murphy again, but he looks stuck,
trapped, helpless.

“Are there no other volunteers?” Chan at least tries.
When there are none willing to stand, he heavily concedes: “Then it
is decided.”

“AGENDA ITEMS CONCLUDED,” Gardener calls a grim end
to this. “CASTING WILL PROCEED PROMPTLY AT AIRLOCK ONE. ALL
RESIDENTS ARE DISMISSED.”

The deep bell sounds again. The masses slowly rise
and file out—just a few pause to look back at the condemned girl.
Only Kara’s family and the H-K remain.

I watch Kara’s father try to touch his daughter, but
Ara turns on him and shoves him away with a scream of rage and
agony, grabbing Kara and holding her close.

The H-K all rise. Then three of them advance calmly
and pry the sobbing child from her mother’s arms, restraining them
both. The father only watches from the side. Then Palmer is
standing close beside me.

“At least I can enjoy watching what they’ll do to
her,” he says softly in my ear.

Too many delightfully wicked ideas suddenly occur to
me. Given what I’ve seen I can do to any matter I come in contact
with, I’m sure my mods would allow me to kill him with only a
casual touch: Heart attack. Stroke. Organ failure. Quick or
torturously slow. And it would look like a natural death.

I realize I could just as easily kill every H-K in
one night—angel of death, tenth plague of Egypt—and set these
people free of them. Lobotomize Gardener. Then, in my mercy, I
would repair their failing systems.

I’m already reaching for him when I stop myself,
remember my preferred weapon, whisper back:

“You know, all I have to do is nothing. Then I’ll get
to enjoy watching you all die. I probably won’t even have to wait
very long.”

He shrugs this off with a cocksure chuckle, then goes
to watch what he’s wrought.

The ritual goes as follows:

For security (and maybe so they don’t have to watch),
the rest on the civilians are locked down in their quarters, the
majority of the H-K force stationed to ensure everyone
complies.

Six H-K—including Palmer and Murphy—escort Kara and
her family to the airlock I came in through. It’s a long, horrible
walk through the echoing domes of the home that’s rejecting her to
an almost certain death. I follow behind them, to no one’s protest
(I think Palmer wants to watch me suffer more, and perhaps Murphy
is hoping I’ll pull off some kind of miracle).

It doesn’t take me long to decide what I’m going to
do.

I do get a minor surprise when we get to the airlock:
Murphy’s wife Kim is there, holding a small pack that I recognize
from their apartment, probably the girl’s worldly possessions. One
of the H-K escort goes to a locker and pulls out a breather mask,
water bottle, insulated sleeping bag and a heavy coat. I notice
these all look well-used. Do they recover the items after those
cast out are killed? Do the Cast themselves bring them back to
demonstrate the fate of the evicted? I find myself looking for old
blood stains.

Palmer’s whispering his venom into my ear as the girl
is made to take the items.

“It’s just a gesture, really. She won’t get to use
any of those things. Maybe the mask, so she’ll last longer.
Otherwise, she’ll die naked, skinned and eaten to the bones. But
that won’t happen for a day or two. The Cast like to make their fun
last. They even make sure to do it in full view of our cameras, if
you want to watch.”