The God Mars Book Three: The Devil You Are (4 page)

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.

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 biological 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.”