Moving Mars

by Greg Bear

  "Survival for how long?" Amy Vico-Persoff asked. "How long until we divide right down to region against region, or us against Cailetet? GEWA against GSHA?"

  "Let's not be so pessimistic," Charles said, holding up a hand. "This is never going to be household kitchen-sink type science. There might be four or five places on Earth that have the resources and the theoreticians necessary to duplicate our work. Don't be fooled by the tweaker's small size. It's as sophisticated a piece of equipment as any human being has ever made. Bit-player warfare isn't our real problem right now, and may never be.

  "But you're right — they'll do it, and soon — two weeks, a month, two months. We have to find a political solution very soon."

  "Politics, hell," Leander said. "Look what politics has accomplished this far. We have to leaue." He looked around the room guiltily, a child who'd spoken a naughty word.

  "Evacuate Mars?" Royce asked, face wreathed in puzzlement.

  None of them had given this a lot of thought, I could tell — except Charles and Leander. Brooding in their little ship, fastened to a peregrinating moon.

  "No," I said. "Move it."

  "Jesus!" Lien cried, jumping from her chair. She left the room, shaking her head and swearing.

  Nobody spoke for long seconds. Charles stared at me, then folded his hands together. "We have no right to make these decisions ourselves, alone. Scientists and politicians have no such right."

  "There isn't the time or the means for a plebiscite. Earth has guaranteed that," I said. "Our choices are very limited. Ti Sandra said the Solar System would become too dangerous. It would kill us."

  The equipment in the chamber seemed innocent and even crude. "How far have we come, Casseia?" Charles asked.

  "Too far. A long time ago, I remember cursing you for the troubles you caused. We've come a long way since."

  "I have never felt in control," Charles said. Royce and Vico-Persoff seemed content to let us talk for the moment. Dandy stood a few paces behind me, stiff as a statue. Charles and I were being given a wide space in which to make decisions, as much out of fear as respect.

  "Nobody has died yet," I said. "I mean, we haven't killed anybody. Earth has. We're still getting reports — but there are entire stations cut off."

  "I know," Charles said.

  "We did not strike the first blow. We will not use this as a weapon."

  "Bullshit," Charles said, stinging me again. "I had orders to cause damage if necessary. When you and Ti Sandra are worn out and thrown away, someone else will step in and desperation and fear will ..." He swallowed and pulled his hands apart, rubbing them on his knees. "Believe it. What we've made will kill people, lots of people."

  "We keep coming back to it, then," I said.

  "You'll talk with Ti Sandra, soon?" Charles asked.

  "Yes. I don't think any of this will surprise her."

  Lieh had returned, face flushed, expression sheepish, and stood beside Dandy. I got up, nodded to Charles, to Leander, to Royce and Vico-Persoff, thanked them for the tea, and left with my bodyguard and communications advisor.

  I looked forward to a Spartan bunk and few amenities.

  Lieh used an electronic key to unlock the door to my room. It was as Spartan as I could have wished, clean and new and empty. It smelled of starch and fresh bread.

  "If the President is awake and well enough, I need to talk with her now," I said.

  Lieh seemed troubled. She looked away and shook her head. Dandy stepped into the room, arms hanging loose. "There's no good time for this, ma'am. Word just came a few minutes ago. We've found your husband."

  "He's at Cyane Sulci?" I asked.

  "He was evacuated and taken to a small station at Jovis Tholus. He got there safely, I understand, but the station was a new one. Its architecture was dynamic, thinker controlled."

  "Why not just leave him at the lab in Cyane?" I sat on the bed, expecting to hear of Ilya's adventures with security, with a troubled station, a technical comedy to relieve my sense of oppression.

  "It wasn't a good move," Dandy admitted. He had difficulty keeping his composure. "There were main quarters blowouts at Jovis. They've been digging and identifying the last few days. Five hundred dead, three hundred injured."

  "He's dead, Casseia," Lieh said. "He's been found and he's dead. We weren't going to tell you until we knew for sure."

  There was no appropriate response, and I had no energy for melodrama. I seemed to be a hole into which things would fall; not a positive force, but a negative.

  "Would you like me to stay?" Lieh asked. I lay back on the bed, staring up at the flat ceiling, the utilitarian blue cabinets.

  "Yes, please," I said.

  Lieh touched Dandy on the arm and he left, closing the door behind. She sat on the bed and rested her back against the rear wall. "My sister and her kids died at Newton," she said. "Ninety casualties."

  "I'm very sorry," I said.

  "I used to talk with her a lot before joining Point One," she said. "Time gets away. This all seemed so important."

  "I know what you mean," I said.

  "I liked Ilya," she said. "He seemed very kind and straight."

  "He was," I said. The dreamlike nature of the conversation told me how many layers of insulation I had wrapped around my emotions, expecting just this news, but refusing to acknowledge the possibility — with the growing number of days, the certainty. "Tell me about your sister."

  "I don't think I'm ready to talk about them yet, Cassie."

  "I understand," I said.

  "The Sulci lab came through fine," she said. "Dandy thinks we killed him."

  "That's stupid," I said.

  "He's taking it hard."

  "I have to talk with Ti Sandra."

  "I think you should wait a few minutes," Lieh said. "Really."

  "If I do anything but work, I'm going to go right over the edge," I said. "There's too much to do."

  Lieh pressed down the placket of her gray suit and held her hand over mine. "Please rest a while," she said.

  "No," I said.

  She stood up from the bed, reached out with her long arm and long, beautiful fingers, and opened the room's optical port. I handed her my slate and she attached it. A few strokes and verbal instructions, a series of code and security checks, and she was through to Point One at Many Hills. They completed the connection.

  I spoke to Ti Sandra ten minutes later. I did not tell her about Ilya.

  We talked about the situation, about my discussion with Charles. Still wrapped in surgical nano, eyes heavy-lidded, her lips twitched as she spoke in a harsh whisper: "We agree, Stephen and you and I. But we're not enough. There have to be consequences and we can't just go anywhere. So what kind of an idea is this? We need more experts. We need to think seriously."

  "The Olympians can get us started," I suggested. "We should gather everybody in the next week or so; take the risk."

  "The Point One people can give them everything they need. You're still acting President, Casseia. How are you, honey?" Ti Sandra asked.

  "Not very well," I answered.

  "We're a mess, all of us. We need a change of scenery. Right?"

  "Right," I said.

  "You bring the experts from around Mars. Everyone who can help. Keep in touch. I'll try to stay awake, Casseia."

  I touched her face on the slate and said good-bye. Lieh waited expectantly, standing in the corner of the small room.

  "Why are we going to do this?" she asked.

  I lay back on the bed. "You tell me," I said.

  "Because if we don't, a lot of people are going to get killed," she said. "But how many people will be killed if we move?"

  "We need to find out," I said. Through the insulation, through the fog of growing reaction, my enhancement began working the problem of removing a mass the size of Mars abruptly from the vicinity of the sun, putting it elsewhere.

  No distance. Thieves stealing from the galactic treasure house.

  "Areologists, I thi
nk," Lieh said.

  "Right. Structural engineers for the stations. People we can trust, but we'll have to lower our standards a little. People are going to know soon enough."

  "The meeting will have to be held in the flesh, incommunicado," Lieh said. "Everybody involved will have to stay sequestered until we've moved."

  "Oh?" I asked, still listening to my enhancement.

  "The greatest danger is a leak to Earth. They may take action at any hint we're working on something so drastic."

  "Yes," I said, letting her think for me, for the time being, letting her stretch to envelop the concept.

  "This will take a lot of planning," she said.

  "Twenty experts, no more," I said. "We'll need a safe meeting place."

  "This is as safe a place as any," Lieh said.

  "All right." I suddenly dreaded the thought of staying in this room where I had learned of Ilya's death. "Ask the Olympians what they'll need to build several large tweakers. Ask them how soon they can have them ready."

  "I'll wake you in eight hours," she said, and she left.

  I closed my eyes.

  When the grief came, I screwed up my eyes until they hurt, trying to keep back the tears, trying not to lose control. I could not accept I could not believe. Adult sophistication meant nothing against that need spread through to my child-self. I kept seeing my mother's face, gone before this all began; lost to me, lost to my father. I would not wear my father's grief, not lose my inner self. I could not recall Ilya's face with much clarity, not as a picture. I picked up my slate and searched for a good picture and yes, there he was, smiling over a mother cyst at Cyane Sulci, and here on the day of our ceremony, uncomfortable in a formal suit.

  It seemed to me that I had never told him enough about my love and need. I cursed myself, so spare with words and revealed emotions to those I loved.

  I rubbed my eyes. My insides felt like shredded rubber. For a moment, I considered calling in a medical arbeiter and plucking out this overwhelming pain. I told myself I could not let my emotions get in the way of duty. But I had not done that for my mother, and I would not do it now.

  I forced my body to relax. Then, without warning, I fell asleep, as if a small circuit breaker had tripped inside my head, and the eight hours passed instantly.

  Part Six

  2184, M.Y. 60 Preamble

  I'm going to be in the goo for at least three more weeks," Ti Sandra said, allowing herself to be seen only from the shoulders up. She appeared pale but more animated. She had just come out of intensive reconstruction, three more days unconscious and at the mercy of her doctors. I took her call in my small office at Kaibab, weary from days of conferences. Memory cubes piled high on my desk carried station designs and reports from manufacturers, shippers, and architects.

  "I've convinced the doctors to move me to Many Hills. They'll take me over this afternoon by shuttle. I can start seeing visitors and be rolled into committee meetings . . . I'll be able to take over that part of the job."

  "That's a considerable relief," I said. I moved her image a few centimeters in the projection space to make room for incoming text reports from Point One on project security.

  "I can't come to Kaibab, obviously. You'll have to build our little project by yourself for the time being."

  "It's building," I said.

  "You sound flat, Cassie."

  "I'm keeping on keeping on," I said, never able to hide my feelings from Ti Sandra. In truth, in the past week, since hearing of Ilya's death, I had become an automaton. It was the best thing that could happen to me. No time to think of my grief, no time to contemplate the future beyond a few brief weeks, lists of jobs to do that took me eighteen or twenty hours a day, and the worst times of all, those few minutes before exhaustion compelled me to sleep . . .

  "What's your goal, honey?"

  "I don't understand," I said.

  "We have to keep goals. Even sacrificial lambs should have something to look forward to."

  Somehow that suggestion seemed obscene. I turned away, shaking my head. "Survival," I said.

  Ti Sandra's face wrinkled with concern. "We're going to talk at least once every day. We've both lost our rudders, Cassie. I'll be your rudder if you'll be mine."

  "Deal," I said.

  "Good," she said. She took a deep breath and the top of her head rose briefly out of frame. "Tell me about Kaibab."

  I outlined what had happened in the few days since we had last spoken. From around Mars, cargo and passenger shuttles had arrived by the score at the secret station on Kaibab Plateau. Half-finished tunnels had been given quick cosmetic touches. New quarters had been opened and supplied with rudimentary comforts. The main laboratory had been finished and construction of the main tweakers had begun.

  Kaibab's population had expanded quickly: two hundred, three hundred, four. The ice lens could supply water enough for a thousand people. Other Point One people arrived daily. Soon I would have a miniature capital working within the cold tunnels and chambers — a backup to Many Hills.

  The tweaker project and the Kaibab laboratory had been given the same code name: Preamble. The ultimate goal of Preamble — to provide the President with an option in case of extreme emergency — was known only to a very few. That the option loomed large as a real possibility was known only to Ti Sandra, Charles, Leander, and myself.

  Two more Olympians — Mitchell Maspero-Gambacorta and Tamara Kwang — had flown in to join Charles, Stephen Leander, Nehemiah Royce, and Vico-Persoff. Pincher and Yueh Liu remained at Tharsis Research, working on a backup tweaker and overseeing the growth of more thinkers.

  I finished my report. Ti Sandra bit her lower lip, nodding approval. "You've done great, Cassie," she said. "I tell you what. When this is all over, we'll have a family party. I'll wear the brightest gown you've ever seen, and we'll celebrate being secure. That's my goal."

  "It's a wonderful goal. Welcome back into the loop," I said, and we signed off.

  I stared at the desk for a moment, lost in contemplation.

  Mars was still deep in the dangerous woods. We could mount big guns, but that was all — and there was still a question as to whether we had the will to fire our big guns. So long as that question remained, we were far from secure. But our most obvious and insidious danger was internal.

  The Republic would not long stand the strain. Martians rebuilt, installed more robust backup systems for life support . . . And still lived in fear of another Freeze, or worse. Rumors swept the stations as government agents fanned out to old mining claims, searching for evidence of locusts. Even Cyane Sulci was searched from the air. The search was futile. A factory seed no larger than a fist, disguised as a rock, would be almost impossible to uncover. But for the destruction at Melas Dorsa, no signs were found.

  The locusts had struck Melas Dorsa with extraordinary cunning and efficiency, first sending small units into the deserted station to reconnoiter and knock out com, then big destructors. Or so the speculations went . . . for we had no record of what had happened there, other than the mute evidence of breached tunnels, destroyed equipment, and the shattered remains of arbeiters.

  We maintained a tentative date for elections, but that date was six months away — and nobody knew what would happen or where we might be by then.

  As accusations flew, heads of state within the Triple exchanged messages, offered reassurances, scanned all available diplomatic channels for signs and symbols of actions to come . . .

  And found nothing. The channels were jammed with posturing and denial. I had never seen the Triple in such a state of absolute confusion.

  None of the Earth alliances would admit to having given the go-ahead for war on Mars — but all were demanding full disclosure of Mars's newfound powers. The Moon and the Belter BMs were if anything even more shrill about the Martian threat. The Republic Information Office and all diplomatic agencies worked to reassure the other members of the Triple of Mars's peaceful intentions, but could not tell them precisely wha
t had happened ... or what we might do next.

  Most Martians demanded full disclosure as well. Opposition inside the government was still too disorganized to mount a fall effort against Ti Sandra and myself, but clearly the pressure would increase in weeks or months until it became unbearable.

  We were contemplating a game of baboon's asses — displaying the colors — on an enormous scale. In this game, however, for one contestant to even blink while making preparations to depart the field . . .

  Disaster.

  Point One's extensive com net returned to full operations. Everything was cobbled together, with human rather than thinker oversight. Martian thinkers were still in very short supply; fewer than twenty had been grown and initiated at Tharsis Research and of those, only ten could be pulled from civilian purposes for the Republic's needs. Many Hills received three, Kaibab, six — three of them QLs with built-in interpreters, to guide the large tweakers.

  Lieh Walker had become spymaster. Day by day, she expanded the Republic's solicitation of outlaw data gleans — buying information at great expense from sources that were not particular about their methods. We should have established extensive spy networks months before — but we had not foreseen a time when there would be such serious disharmony between Earth and Mars. Now, perhaps too late, we became more ruthless.

  We added dozens of new data flies — operatives who coursed the Earth nets, tapped cable transmissions, fed from the sweet attractions of private GEWA and GSHA connections. Some of the data we gleaned we sold to other sources to help finance our own operations.

  When Lieh asked me to authorize the funding of twenty additional agents on Earth and in the Belt, I asked what their status would be. "Well-paid," she said. "Expendable." GEWA and GSHA had already swatted a few of our flies — a usually fatal punishment that transferred corrosive evolvons to the data-coursing enhancements the flies used in the nets.

  "If I need to know any more," I said, "tell me."

  "It's on my back," she said. "You've got enough to carry now."

  By which she meant, I was carrying the lives of every Martian, herself included — and I never knew whether she approved or not. I suspect she didn't.