The God Mars Book Three: The Devil You Are (6 page)

In the flesh, Burns is maybe five nine and one-fifty,
late thirties, a little roundish in the face, tan and short-haired.
He tends to puff up his body language when he talks, just a little
posturing like he’s insecure.

“
I
don’t buy my story,” I give again. “But I
don’t believe the ETE are behind Chang.”

“Do you believe his time travel story?” he almost
sneers.

“Not really. Too much doesn’t make sense. But I would
buy that a rogue tech genius—one skilled enough to make the Discs
and get them here all those years ago—might still be active. And
now mobilizing again, since Earth is coming back where he
apparently didn’t want them.”

“Then why the bad science fiction story?”

“The Big Lie,” I guess honestly. “Manipulate the
masses. Sell himself as our savior, so we should help him instead
of fight him, let him have his way.”

“Then what was Ra?”

That makes me hesitate. Ra was Star. I know Star.
Knew Star. Star would never be part of something like what Chang is
doing.

“Maybe just another con to sell the story.”

“But you said Ra wants you to fight Chang.”

“And Chang wants me to join him,” I bend it. “Maybe
this is about selling me. Or distracting us.”

“Which means it could be the ETE,” he prosecutes his
agenda.

“I’ve gotten to know the ETE. So have a few others of
us. They’re naïve idealists. And I’ve seen them go to expensive
lengths not to hurt anyone. And to help us. I doubt it was just a
show. And Chang has killed some of them.”

“Maybe they’re not all in on it,” he tries. “Maybe
their naïve idealists are also being conned. Your own reports
describe how secretive their ruling Council is.”

“And since they won’t surrender their tech to you, it
suggests guilt?”

I’m keeping it level, objective. He doesn’t
comment.

“What would you do with their tech—UNMAC, UNCORT—if
you got hold of it? Destroy it all? Or break your taboos against
that sort of science enough to try to weaponize it, given the
current situation?”

“That isn’t up to me,” he disavows. “But I would
certainly want effective countermeasures.”

“That still requires playing with a science that
scares you. Would that happen here? Or would UNMAC risk moving it
back to Earth?”

“That isn’t up to me,” he repeats. He’s getting
uncomfortable. Maybe he’s just puritanical enough to squirm at the
idea of using Satan’s power to fight Satan.

“And the other survivors?” I push while he’s
stressed. “You really think that rounding them all up, relocating
them, is a good idea?”

“Apparently you don’t,” he goes on the offensive.
“Would you defy your orders, Colonel?”

“These aren’t marooned colonial workers. They’ve
lived here for fifty years. Most of them all of their lives. This
is home. And most of them won’t be able to function on Earth.”

“If that’s true, I expect they will be allowed to
return. One day. When it’s safe. They have to understand: This is
for the good of us all. And we have an obligation to take care of
them. They’re human, after all. God’s children. Our children.” He
sounds like he’s reading a script.

“Fifty years. There’s been no sign of what you’re
afraid of. No plagues. No Discs. No danger other than their
conflicts over resources and territory, at least not until now,
until we woke up and called you back here.”

“And what would you have us do, Colonel Ram?” He says
my name like it’s become a joke.

“Focus on Chang. Protect these people. Offer support,
but don’t make demands. And proceed gingerly—they’re afraid of you.
They think Earthside fired the Shield intentionally. So they fully
expect you’ll kill them all to save yourselves from something that
doesn’t exist. And you’re acting scared enough to convince them
that’s exactly what you’ll do.”

“And the ETE?”

“Unless you have hard evidence that Chang is ETE,
leave them be. Work with them like I have—best way to get to know
them is to be on the same side. If they start trusting, if you earn
it, maybe you’ll get what you want.”

He stands there like a piece of wood for several long
moments, then tells me flatly:

“Your recommendations will be passed up the chain of
command, Colonel.”

He turns and lets himself out.

I expect he’ll be running to conference with Richards
and his Earthside masters. I also expect he’s been doing that all
morning since I showed up.

Given a few moments alone so I don’t look unnaturally
distracted, I dive into MAI and satisfy my urgent curiosity. And
come up empty. MAI has
no
logged communications between
Burns—or anyone here—and anyone off-planet since I arrived. Nor
does he make a call out now.

The implication makes me sicker than I already am:
Burns has his own dedicated communication gear, separate from MAI.
Which means he doesn’t want to risk anyone in this base monitoring
his messages. Or his orders.

Confirming this, I use MAI to track his ID tag. He
didn’t go to Ops. He went straight to his quarters, and shut down
the in-room sentries so no one could hear or see what he was
doing.

28 March, 2117:

Burns gives Halley permission to release me from my
sterile plastic cage after twenty-four hours of “observation”, only
to confine me to quarters.

My “Deluxe” officer’s accommodations are just as I
left them, only the air is stale after months shut up. There’s also
just enough disruption of the blanket on my rack to say someone
came in, sat here for awhile, maybe took a careful look through my
things. As the place isn’t ransacked, it probably wasn’t Burns or
one of his cronies searching for something else to damn me with.
Given how few people would have access through MAI, I’m guessing it
was Lisa, come to sit and mourn my likely death, but not willing to
commit to that likelihood enough to pack my belongings. (But then,
I didn’t pack Matthew’s stuff for weeks, and I saw him dead, saw
what was left of him, buried him up on the ridge.)

The tiny metal cell is lonely. I’d gotten used to
having Sakina here, always close, sleeping on her roll on the
narrow strip of floor, then finally in my almost-as-narrow bed. She
had no possessions except what she carried with her. There is
nothing of her here now, not even the smell of her.

I make a show for the in-room sentry cameras of
checking my desktop interface. As expected, I’ve been locked out of
MAI, isolated. Using my own discreet access, I read tag tracking
and find troopers stationed on the corridor junctions around this
section, and guarding Ops. I can’t imagine that this is for any
other reason than fear of me.

I take the next few hours sitting alone to look bored
and tired. What I am doing is reviewing the files I’d found—or
didn’t find—while I was pretending to sleep last night. Burns has
made his regular “official” communications to Earthside since he
got here a few weeks ago, “bravely” choosing to isolate himself
down here with us in Quarantine, a move justified by questioning
Lisa’s qualifications to serve as acting Planetary Commander. (And
what qualifications do Burns or Richards have?) It’s clear they
used my “death” as an excuse to get their own officers running
things. I expect they would have found any of a number of excuses
to do so even if I wasn’t MIA.

Burns’ official communications are suspiciously
sparse. They don’t mention the Nomads or the Knights packing up and
leaving, or even what spurred that, only that “outreach efforts”
were being initiated. I wonder if Lisa or Kastl or Anton have
noticed the bullshit he’s been sending where they can hear, and if
they suspect he’s got a secret uplink.

I do get to watch the battle I missed. And it’s more
than clear: We wouldn’t have beaten Chang back without the help of
all of our allies (and sort-of allies)—the Nomads, the Knights, the
ETE, even the Shinkyo (maybe especially the Shinkyo, for
sacrificing their own to take out Chang’s railgun). Earthside has
to recognize that. I expect the only thing they’ve learned is how
much manpower and ordnance they’re going to need to get on planet
to pull off another defense like that without help. (And they don’t
have it now, I checked the inventories. Not even with the June
shipments. Unless there’s more they’re keeping secret.)

Burns has been accessing MAI to study our records of
our encounters with the various locals. He’s been especially
obsessive about the ETE, as expected. And the Shinkyo. But in the
last few days, he’s been running and rerunning what we have on
Tranquility. I wonder if he’s looking for an on-planet food source,
picking his next target for his “outreach efforts”, or if Earthside
is afraid Tranquility’s verdant gardens are potentially infected
with something terrifying enough to justify something horrible.

Lisa brings me lunch.

“You sure this is allowed?” I quip when she comes
into my cozy little cell.

“I have Halley’s guarantee you don’t have any
space-cooties.”

“I was thinking my seditiousness was considered
contagious. Hanging out with me could get you in trouble.”

“It always does.” She steps through the hatch, shuts
it behind her. “Besides, I missed you. And a girl has needs.” She
sets the tray on my desk, moves close, strips off her jacket, then
reaches to do the same with her shirt. Looks up at the sentry
cameras.

“Privacy MAI. Command Override Ava.”

“Um… This is… unexpected.” But I don’t back up. But
she stops stripping.

“Only way I could talk to you without unwanted ears,”
she lets me know. But she doesn’t back up, either, like she wants
to see what I’ll do.

“Assuming Burns doesn’t override your override.”

“I doubt he will. They’re all pretty prudish, with
their new state morality. And they think we’re all cavemen, all
free sex and meat eating and boozing. They don’t even curse—you
should probably watch your language, though it’s almost fun
watching them freak out. Given what Burns has of our files, he’s
probably expecting us to be fucking like bunnies every chance we
get, especially now that your little girlfriend is gone.” There was
extra bite on that last bit.

“And if he’s pervy enough to want to watch?” I’m
still not backing up.

“Then we may have to be convincing.” And she catches
herself, as if she’s surprised she said that. Hesitates. Her body
language is betraying her. And mine…

I realize my libido is through the roof, probably a
benefit of my rejuvenation. And my senses… I can smell her. I’m
starving for her. I need to make myself not move. And I’m sure she
can see it.

“No meat, huh?” I keep the subject idle.

“Apparently the governments have gone all nanny with
their mandates ‘for the good of us all’. Morality codes. Language
standards. Dietary monitoring. Mandatory physical fitness and
scheduled meditation. Heavy restrictions on drugs and alcohol.”

“I expect the rich and powerful still get to
cheat.”

“I’ve heard Jackson’s pilots talking about big state
incentives for everything from geriatric euthanasia to putting your
kids in special government schools. Public service—including
military tours—apparently earns extra ‘rights’.”

“We are so not going back.” Now I have anger to stuff
down.

“You’d probably break the planet, just stepping foot
on it,” she tries to lighten it.

Despite the dark turn of topic, neither of us has
moved. We’re inches apart, not touching, just breathing. And she
is
responding.

“What are we doing?” she finally says.

“I thought we were putting on a show for Burns,” I
discount poorly.

“No,” she gets serious, and I feel her old pain come
through. “What are we doing? Us? All these years. We barely talk.
We certainly don’t talk about anything important. You
know
I
came to Mars for you—it wasn’t just wanting to play space-soldier.
Even if we were just friends…”

A buzz at the hatch interrupts the moment (like
throwing ice water on it). I immediately think Burns has come to
break up our little sinful encounter.

It’s Anton.

“Colonel…” He looks back and forth down the corridor,
like he’s nervous about coming. I’m sure he had to pass by the
guards Burns has all around. I wonder if they’d report him, or if
older loyalties still sway. “I don’t have a lot of time, but I
thought you’d like to know: I think I’ve detected a hack. Inside
MAI.”

“One of our neighbors getting curious?” I do a good
job of covering. “PK? Shinkyo? Or are you thinking Chang?”

“I’m not sure yet. It’s pretty subtle. Nothing I’ve
ever seen before. But it’s been in your medical records.”

“Someone else curious about what happened to me?” I
realize I’m getting too good at lying to my own people. My friends.
(Even if it’s for their own good.)

“Could be.”

“Does Burns know?”

“I was actually on my way to find him,” he verbalizes
his excuse for stopping by, should he need one. “He spends a lot of
time in his quarters.”

“Probably thinks we have space-cooties,” I steal
Lisa’s line. “Unless you think he’s doing something he doesn’t want
us to know about?” Now I’m using him, potentially getting him in
trouble. (That I’m sure he’d want me to doesn’t absolve me.)

“Probably,” he admits covertly. Then he sees Lisa,
looking uncomfortably disheveled. “Oh. I’m sorry, sir. I mean
should get going.” I’m not sure if I’ve ever seen him blush
before.

“Thanks, Anton,” I give him. And I’m afraid for
him—for everyone here.

I shut the hatch.

“Where were we?”

Her face is a mix of conflicting emotions, many of
them varying flavors of anger at me, cultured over the decades. She
once said I was the first great love of her life (and in the same
breath, said she couldn’t bear to be with me anymore). She was, I
suppose, the second great love of mine, sometime after the first
hurt me (I thought then) beyond healing. And what happened to us
was my fault: I let myself get sucked into the ugliness of the job,
the rage at the corrupt war we were fighting, and I put my need to
make that right (or at least vent my rage into it) more important
than her. She compared me to her father the addict (a significant
life detail she’d never mentioned before), and I don’t feel it was
an unfair comparison. I pulled away from her because I was addicted
to my righteous rage. I left her because I would rather kill than
love. Whatever mellowing (or healing) I’ve done with age is too
little, far too late.