After a few minutes of nothing happening, the hatch to the immediately adjoining Iso opens, and Lisa comes through it. She’s wearing her Mars desert-camo uniform pants, an old pre-Bang UNMAC t-shirt and boots. Her bomb collar is thankfully absent. She looks at me with a mix of gratitude and anxiety in her eyes.
“You saw the battle?” I ask verbally rather than try a discreet transmission.
“They let me see the feed,” she admits sadly, her voice muffled by the layered barrier between us, “in case I had some useful insight.”
The way she says it lets me know that they doubt anything she tells them as much as they doubt me, despite her demonstrated dedication to duty. (I wonder if they use her as a hostile resource, doing exactly the opposite of anything she advises?)
“They would have lost the whole company without him,” Lyra comes to my defense again.
“Possibly,” I hear Burns before I see him. He comes into the viewing gallery with a pair of uniformed techs I’ve never seen before. “Possibly that would have been a mercy, given the alternative.”
He looks more weathered and weary since the last time I saw him. Older. And already missing significant muscle mass. I take some small comfort in what the job is costing him. But
“Not all of those people outside have been struck by Harvester darts,” I confront him with what should be obvious. “Check them.”
“That’s not the only threat,” he turns quickly accusatory, “and I think you’re well aware of that.”
“Our tech isn’t contagious,” Lisa repeats our assurances. “I think I’ve given you plenty of opportunities to prove that.”
“Your tech defies all attempts to extract and preserve for study,” Burns rewords. “But your very existence proves it can be passed willfully from one host to another. I saw it happen to you.”
“And we’ve explained that to you,” she keeps fighting the madness, exasperated. “There were a limited number of coded ‘seeds’ sent from that other reality.”
I notice she doesn’t use the word “timeline”. Has she figured out what Yod did? Did someone slip the news to her? (Maybe Dee?) She does shoot me a brief look that seems to confirm that she knows the truth behind the lie, that she picked her words to let me know that. (I imagine the Iso is wired to detect any discreet communication between us.)
“And that still isn’t what we’re talking about,” Jackson joins us in the gallery, his helmet now tucked under his arm.
“I remember you giving me the benefit of the doubt, Colonel,” I play him. “Accepting that maybe I—we—really don’t know about whatever evil plan we’re supposedly a part of. So enlighten me: Tell me what we’re talking about. Then you can gauge my reaction.”
I hear him sigh. Then he reaches over one of the techs and keys up some images from the wreckage of Asmodeus’ second Stormcloud.
“I told you we analyzed the wreckage. We also recently found remains. Pieces of the clone. Tissue only, but enough to see how the process worked, how he changed an innocent victim into a sick copy of himself. You said he managed it with a combination of nanotech implantation and DNA ‘hacking’. And that’s true: the DNA did show traces of alteration, of gene replacement. But that wasn’t accomplished by the mechanical nanotechnology we’ve seen. What we isolated was on a molecular scale, no bigger than a virus. The structure and function was also very much like a virus. It went from cell to cell, replicating and spreading exponentially, knocking out the key sequences of the host DNA with targeted nuclease and splicing in a recombinant sequence. The effected cells are then forced to replicate to match what the new DNA is programmed for. And from what we’ve seen, there are none of the so-called ‘safeties’ on this agent. It can transfer from host to host freely. It just needs to be introduced into the bloodstream. The victim’s immune system has no chance at all against it. According to our models, within five to seven days after the initial infection, all traces of the original host’s DNA have been irrevocably rewritten.”
It is a shocking thought. And it confirms that Asmodeus must have stolen Chang’s knowledge to pull it off. He couldn’t have gotten the skills to do this from Fohat. But…
“That would only make someone start to look like Asmodeus,” I kill the fantasy. “They wouldn’t be him. They might eventually have a few of his personality traits, maybe his intelligence, but not his memories, not what made him the monster he is.” And I have to chuckle. “Asmodeus does have a massive ego, but not even he would want to give everybody his face, not even for the laugh.”
Then I see the look of horror on Lyra’s face.
“If Asmodeus can create a virus-like machine that can attack your DNA…” Burns starts running with it.
“He can create a virus-like machine that can kill you,” I intercept. “Or do any of a number of other unpleasant things. But it still has to have a vector to infect. You said this one requires introduction into the blood—that means it can’t transfer without mechanical introduction. Your troopers were all sealed in H-A shells. If nothing penetrated their suits, they’re fine. But even if he unleashed something airborne, your decontamination protocols would detect it, especially now that you know what to look for.” I remember the sniffers in the decon airlock we came in through.
“But if it’s spread by nanotech transportation, armor and MOPP gear would be no protection,” he voices the crux of their fear. “It could even penetrate our facility seals.”
“But you could still detect it. And you have the technology to contain free nanotech,” I counter, gesturing at the layered, charged transparency between us.
If he has something to admit about their protective protocols, he isn’t willing to reveal anything I might decide to exploit, so he just gives up their easy targets:
“We had supports in the field without shells…” Burns nods to Lyra. “And a team of embedded journalists.”
As if on cue, the airlock in one of the far Iso wards opens, and a trauma pod is wheeled in. Two med techs in bio suits transfer Ryan out of it onto a table and begin working on his gunshot wound.
“He was hit with a Harvester dart,” I go ahead and read them his death sentence.
“Gil Ryan is a celebrity back home,” Jackson tells me heavily. “Given your own history, I’m sure you have a sense of what that means. And what it means if we lose him to this.”
“He was your responsibility,” I toss the obvious back at them, feeling impulsively malicious. “This won’t go over well back home.”
“I wouldn’t celebrate that, Colonel,” Jackson confronts my apparent callousness. “If he dies here of a nanotech infection, opinions will sway. The people will stop caring about the few thousand who live on this planet. The World Government will be forced to act to ensure public safety.”
“And that would make Asmodeus ecstatic,” I condemn. I wonder how many warheads they’ve brought to Mars, disguised in their manifests. Enough, I’m sure. Certainly more that the Shield dropped on us half-a-century ago.
“We need a cure,” Burns gives the bottom line. “A defense. An effective one.”
“An acceptable one,” I distill. And nod my agreement.
“I’m glad you’re so understanding,” Burns throws back at me, clearly holding back his own panic at the position he’s in. If Earthside orders the planet sterilized, I’m sure they’ll insist he burn with it, that everyone who volunteered for this mission burn with it. “Especially since you’re one of the only ones with nothing to lose. Assuming you really are nuke-proof.”
“Now, Colonel,” Jackson eases Burns, “give Colonel Ram more credit than that. I’m sure he doesn’t see things so nihilistically. But we can prove it...”
He sends a signal, and the hatch to the viewing gallery opens again. This time, more welcome faces come through (or they would be more welcome in other circumstances): Rick, Anton, Tru…
“They’re using my civvies for construction,” Tru tells me her excuse for being brought here from Melas Two. I’m sure the others have per
fectly reasonable orders requiring their presence.
“And Doctor Halley, of course,” Jackson reminds me, before clarifying his threat: “This base is armed with a sterilizing warhead. I have no qualms about confronting my own death. The others who volunteered for this mission knew the risks. So the question is yours, Colonel Ram: Do you have something to lose here?”
I don’t answer him. But I don’t need to.
“Then I expect we’ll have your full cooperation.”
“And what do you expect me to do?” I want to know.
“We need to wait out the established incubation period,” Burns explains clinically. I can hear the fear in his voice: Jackson may be ready to die, but he’d rather not. “Specialist Jameson has already been exposed to you, so she will continue to be, so we can monitor her for signs of infection. In the meantime, we’ll do our best to stabilize Ryan and the other confirmed infected. Obviously we failed to collect samples of the Asmodeus clone at the Pax site, but the bodies of the disabled drones and their weapons are being secured for study. Maybe we can get some more insight into their replication systems, determine if they’ve been modified to deliver a more insidious agent. Specialist Jameson…” he addresses Lyra as her CO. “…you will be given access to work on the problem from here until you’re cleared.”
“Thank you, sir,” she gives him with honest enthusiasm.
“Maybe your friend—or his friends—can be of some real assistance,” Burns prods me through her.
“Ops to Colonel Burns,” I hear Kastl’s voice over the link—so he’s here too, sitting on a bomb with the rest of my former command team.
“What is it, Captain?” He sounds annoyed at the interruption.
“We’ve detected a hack, sir. A massive one.”
“Target?” Jackson takes it when Burns visibly freezes.
“Mission video. Suit and aircraft cams. Even the civilian journalists’ gear… It’s being cracked through the uplinks, flashed through to Earth… Same thing Asmodeus did when he parked over Katar… Earthside won’t be able to filter it incoming…”
I have to force myself not to smile. Asmodeus wants Earth to see the fucking he’s just given their military mission.
“Shut it down!” Burns tries, finding his voice again.
“It’s too late, sir. It’s gone out. I’m sending an order to jam it on the other end, but it’ll get there first, get through to the public networks before we can warn Earthside it’s incoming. I… Oh shit—sorry, sir. You should see this.”
“Hello, boys and girls,” I hear Asmodeus’ voice syrupy through the terminal speakers. Jackson turns one of the monitors so I can see the monster: blank background, leaned in to the camera with a smile on his face like he has a sick joke to tell. “This is your Uncle Ange again. Sorry, no porn this time. Just another one of my attempts at making an award-winning documentary film, but I think you’ll find this one even more exciting than my last effort. Those with sensitive dispositions should probably leave the room. Or close your eyes, cover your ears and go…” He demonstrates. “LALALALALA!”
Burns is panicking in a more energetic fashion now, hissing orders into his link to try to keep this from going Upworld, but he knows it already has. Kastl’s right: There’s no way to stop it now. Asmodeus made sure of that. It will hit Earth after the transmission delay, and hack through their barriers before they know what hit them.
“Anyway…” Asmodeus collects himself and continues. The scene shifts to what I recognize is a moving shot inside the Pax Keep. The camera passes healthy Pax going about their business, seemingly oblivious to whatever is filming them. Either it’s on one of them or is flying on a nano-drone. I see a few Pax make eye-contact, nod, smile, step aside, confirming it’s the former.
“This is the Hold Keep of the people known as the Pax,” Asmodeus narrates. “They’ve kept the name of their long-abandoned home colony, but they’re certainly not pacifists. In fact, they’re formidable warriors, unmatched in this environment. Or at least they were, until your Uncle Ange showed up and got bored.
“The Keep itself is a magnificent feat of engineering and excavation, hundreds upon hundreds of meters of tunnels and chambers deep under what was supposed to be a protective mountain, able to provide shelter for several hundred families.”
We get shots of living spaces, communal meals, the Council Chamber, the Dragonfly breeding pools, and the livestock pens.
“The Pax themselves are a truly marvelous example of human adaptation and ingenuity. Like their red-painted neighbors to the east, they’ve adjusted quite nicely to the thin air and low gravity. But even more impressive, they’ve been engaging in cottage genetic engineering, breeding and modifying the seeds and embryos that their colonial forefathers brought from Earth all those years ago, to make…” We see modified, adapted pigs in their pens. “…bacon! And…” We get film of cows. “…cheeseburgers!” And “Chicken McNuggets!”
The scene shifts back to his talking head, theatrically somber now.
“Okay, I understand you probably have no idea what those things are anymore, and that makes me unbearably sad, but believe me: They are tasty. But that’s not all of it: The Pax are the self-appointed stewards of this engineered forest, and to help keep all those super-plants in line, they made really humongous bugs…”
He shows us the engineered butterflies and dragonflies in their natural habitats, but also close-ups of larvae in the breeding pools.
“Gross, I know, but actually pretty cool. In fact, it was all pretty cool and amazing and beautiful, until, well…”
The video shifts to a distant shot of the Pax Mountain. It promptly explodes. And keeps exploding. (I finally get to see the bombardment from somewhere other than inside it. It’s as crushing as he intends it to be.)
“This would be your government at work, kids. They were worried I was spreading my cooties among these good people so they bombed the shit out of them from orbit.”
We see the more familiar rubble.
“Engineering marvel. Happy hippie commune. Salvador Dali farm animals. Really big bugs. All gone.”
We linger on the destruction for several seconds before he starts again.
“The good news is, no living Pax were harmed in this impulsive, irresponsible and downright criminal act of destruction. Of course, that was only because I’d already attacked them, killed a bunch of them and sent the rest running far far away from here. You’re welcome. But it gets better…”
We see the Earth force fly in, drop and advance on the ruin—he had eyes on them the whole time.
“This would be a good time to close your eyes, cover your ears and sing the lala song.”
And then we see the massacre. All of it. From a dozen drone eyes. And the chaos of the retreat, the troopers gunning down their own. And then the attack on the base.
“This is your elected leadership at work, children. These are your brothers and sisters and spouses and parents and children and all those brave souls who volunteered to serve all dying stupid because their commanders are complete fucking idiots and their bosses don’t give a fuck because they’re all sitting comfy back home. I’m really sorry you had to see this. I am. But I thought you had the right to know, before they concocted some bullshit story to cover their lethal incompetence.”
I can see what Burns is helplessly spinning in his eyes: He should have ordered the uplink killed as soon as the battle went bad, but he was obligated to report to Earthside. I get the impression he hasn’t sent any report back yet, not sure how to spin it so they don’t pull his command in the field, relieve him or worse. And then he came down here to waste his time gloating over my “capture”. Now, the first news Earth will see of their grand operation will be this, this raw and unedited slaughter.
“There was one small bright spot in all this horror,” Asmodeus offers. Then he shows clips of me: Wading into the fight, barking orders, defending the retreating, cowering troops with my pistol and borrowed guns.
�
�This would be Mike Ram. Doing his famous thingy, single-handedly saving the day. Any of your loved ones that made it out in one piece owe that to him and him alone. He’s my hero.” The last part, of course, was delivered with childish smarm. I have no idea why he’s showing this, but then he reveals his reason:
“So how did your fearless leaders reward him for his efforts?”
And he shows me getting guns turned on me, getting taken into custody.
“Yup. That really happened. A big Fuck You. I’d bet he’ll think twice next time, but I know him pretty well, and he’s kinda stupid that way.”
The screen has shifted back to the close-up of Asmodeus, now doing his best to look honestly concerned.
“Now I would tell you all to run right out and exercise your God-given democracy, vote your motherfucking leaders into obscurity, but I expect you’ll find out pretty quickly that—despite what they keep telling you—you’re not actually living in a democracy at all. And when you do… Well, your Uncle Ange will be here for you.”
He winks, and the transmission ends. I have a really hard time not smiling.
Jackson looks like he’s quietly seething. Burns… He doesn’t excuse himself. He runs, to—I suspect—hastily compose and upload his own report, try to salvage his ass. (But then he’ll have to re-activate the uplink to send it.)
Jackson stays long enough to look at me, give me a grunt of disgust like he still believes this is all my fault, and repeat needlessly:
“We need that cure.”
“It’s good to see you again, Colonel,” Rick is the first to greet me after those remaining have had a few moments to digest what we’ve seen.
“In spite of the circumstances,” Anton qualifies. He sounds like he’s trying not to sound nervous, and I get the impression it isn’t about whatever threat Asmodeus presents.
The God Mars Book Six: Valhalla I Am Coming Page 16
