Mars Needs Books!

by Gary Lovisi

  After time, property with little or no value.

  Ryan knew this truth.

  * * * *

  Now Ryan’s mind suddenly jumped back in time, thinking about the old days. The real old days! He remembered when he’d been a kid in what had been called Old America. The United States of America. It was strange to him that his memories went back that far. Was that part of the programming too? It was all so far away, a long-ago dream. He and his brother alone, and hunted, after their father had been killed. That had been in the old Rebellion. Their father hadn’t been anyone important. A part-time soldier, some called him sunshine patriot, others Minuteman. It did not matter. He was one of the fighters who showed up in 2025 to try and take Chicago and make it a free city after the meltdown. He was one of the dead afterwards. Body unidentifiable, except by his two sons, who afterwards thoroughly burned the corpse with gasoline in a vain hope the government goon squads would not be able to identify the dead rebels via DNA and then go after their families to exterminate what they termed a pestilence. The wives and children and his own wife, Cathy. At this point in time The DOC was using systematic rape, murder, and torture to squeeze information out of people. All preparatory to the genocide of social and political undesirables and chronic troublemakers. Old time Republicans were hunted down and exterminated. Democrats were next, if they didn’t see the light properly and embrace full governmental control. Boy were they shocked! Then the Atheists, Christians, Jews, Muslims, even Agnostics. Anyone who could conceivably oppose anything, for any reason. It didn’t matter what it might be. After a while there seemed no reason for any of it. It was just sheer, brutal terror. All they succeeded in squeezing out of people was fear and hatred. And rage.

  The rage seemed to ensure there would be a time of comeuppance and revenge, “Someday.... Some-damn-day...!”

  * * * *

  Ryan’s thoughts were back on Mars now. His mind time-tripping back to the present. Those old memories were strange, alien to him. Were they even his own? Were they implanted? He could not be sure about any of it. Now he was an adult again, looking over the list of names his brother had smuggled out to him.

  The names were all women!

  It was almost too good to be true. Even with obvious subversive agents, troublemakers, paid informers, sleeper spies, terrorists, traitors—and even with Arabella Rashid traveling to Mars under another name, it was still wonderful. It was all so scary but wonderful.

  Ryan’s brother, who went by the name of Michael, hadn’t been clear on that aspect of the situation. It made Ryan wonder if Arabella Rashid was actually one of the women on the list of names he saw printed on the microdot. If so, she lay hidden there among the dozens of names of women who had waited, some for years, to come out to Mars to meet a man and begin a new life.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  SIMON’S REVENGE

  As the years passed she began to suspect that Simon, even in death, was still manipulating her mind. The very thought terrified her.

  Arabella Rashid feared Simon had played with her deepest thoughts and innermost desires just as he had manipulated everything else in the world. She tried to deny it all, rationalize it away—after all Simon was long dead—but it caused her untold panic and utter terror. Had her memories been tampered with? Changed? Had her personality and thoughts been rearranged? The DOC had the power and technology to do that easily, surely, and Simon had done it to everyone who worked under him. That included the clones and all his subordinates.

  Had Simon done it to her too?

  Arabella Rashid vainly tried to wipe away the sweat of panic that drenched her in cold fear. Knowing Simon, she realized it was not only possible, it was probable.

  She tried to remember the man who had helped her dispose of Simon’s body so long ago. Had it been Ryan? Funny how she could barely recall his image now. It had been twenty years since she had murdered Simon and begun her own phase of his Janus Project—but something had gone terribly wrong with her plan.

  She looked over the reports and the messages sent by various DOC field agents and spies. A pattern was emerging. She correlated them with her own private records. These had been sealed long ago and were Top Secret. It seemed to be some type of diary. Perhaps letters to herself to be read in the future? Something to warn her, or remind her?

  But of what?

  She was not foolish enough to believe that all things would stay the same, move perfectly according to plan, or that she would have the same plans and desires as a woman in her thirties today. The Supreme Director of the hated and feared DOC, had begun as just a twig of a girl of thirteen when she’d taken Simon’s life and all his power.

  Now she realized something had gone wrong sometime after that time.

  She called in Jenkins, her most trusted advisor and confidant. He was an old man now, approaching octogenarian status, and had been with her for almost twenty years acting as her servant and chief secretary. He had been tried and tested by the DOC and implanted with loyalty programs that had tested him many times. He was 50% synthetic and replicant now, almost half-android, as he’d lost so many parts in her service over the years from tests of his loyalty.

  “Well? Did you find anything?” she asked.

  Jenkins bowed, he was always so obviously full of joy to be in her presence. Not all of that emotion was the result of his programming. “I think I have. I combed all projects begun soon after your ascendancy to the Directorship as you asked me. Many are still secret, most are shrouded in mystery with most records having been wiped away.”

  “Yes, the DOC is nothing if not thorough,” Arabella Rashid said softly. Then hopefully she began, “But you said you found something?”

  “Well, there seems to be something, but I can not make anything of it. It makes no sense, really. The only reason it came up at all in my search is that it is still a viable program.”

  “It’s still in operation?” she asked incredulous.

  “Yes, it was begun about twenty years ago, soon after your ascendancy,” Jenkins said slowly, carefully, “and because it is still in operation, that is the only reason there was some record still available. But it is very secret, For Your Eyes Only, upon pain of death.”

  “What is the name?” she asked.

  “Big Brother, or more properly, the Big Brother Project,” Jenkins replied.

  “Big Brother?” Arabella Rashid said softly. She’d never heard of it. “And what does it do?”

  Jenkins sighed, shrugged his shoulders, “Well, my lady, that’s what has me so confused. What I have discovered about this project, makes no sense at all. At first, I thought the plan was some very subtle DOC scenario to obstruct all discovery. But I have delved deeper into it and it is just what it appears to be. That’s the weird part.”

  “Well, out with it, Jenkins!” she said impatient now.

  “My lady, it seems the sole purpose of the Big Brother Project is, and I am quoting here now from the prime directive file, ‘to ship out old mystery and hard-boiled crime paperback books to Mars.’”

  Jenkins held his head low, sad that he may have failed her.

  “Paperbacks?” she asked curious. “What are they?”

  “An obsolete and cheap information storage device from LastCen for the distribution of popular fiction,” Jenkins explained softly, regurgitating what the history files had told him. Obviously embarrassed at his failure to please his mistress.

  Arabella Rashid laughed deeply, “That makes no sense. No sense at all.”

  “Yes, my lady,” Jenkins stammered.

  He had failed her.

  “What does one box or case of these things have to do with Mars, Jenkins?”

  Jenkins stood his ground like the valued and loyal retainer he had proved to be for so many years—or that he had been programmed to be. “My lady, it is not just any paperbacks, but apparently only certain types, and it is not just one or two contraband boxes or cases. Shipments have gone out to Mars on every supply run to the planet. They ha
ve gone out under special DOC seals. In fact, thousands of cases and crates have been shipped out to the planet this way over the years, the decades. There was also a secret closed shipment. I believe that many years ago an entire obsolete library of these hard copy “paperback things” was secretly shipped to Mars.”

  “What the hell for!” she demanded. “What is going on here!”

  “I don’t know, my lady,” Jenkins replied carefully.

  “Then find out!” she ordered the old man.

  “Yes, my lady,” he replied and was about to leave when she beckoned him closer.

  “And what of the other files?” she asked timidly, almost afraid of what he might tell her now.

  Jenkins cleared his throat nervously, came closer to her. She was beautiful, but terrible. He feared her, understood her great power, but felt pity for her as well. So many conflicting emotions surged within her. For Jenkins knew she was a woman lost within herself, not at all the person she appeared to be, and now what he had discovered verified it. And he dreaded to tell her the truth.

  “Well? Are you going to tell me?” she insisted, then she smiled benignly. It was difficult for her to be harsh with him. “Come on, Jenkins, it can’t be that bad. Can it?”

  The look on his face showed her that it was.

  She waited bravely, insisting.

  Finally Jenkins nodded as if coming to a momentous decision, and began. “I found some old records on the Janus Project. There are discrepancies. They indicate that twenty years ago it was you who set up what has become both a contrary plan and the concurrent plan.”

  “Contrary and concurrent plans!” she whispered.

  “Yes, it is incontrovertible. I have found the records, the proof of it. It shows that as the new Director you set into motion a secret part of the Janus Project to sabotage the initial DOC project originally begun by Simon.”

  “No, that cannot be,” she said firmly.

  “Yes, and there’s more,” Jenkins added, sadness clouding his face at his words. “You not only set the plan in motion against the Janus Project, you set it in motion against the governmental Authority and the DOC. You planned a future...rebellion.”

  “Jenkins, that is impossible! I am the Director of DOC!”

  “You really don’t remember, do you?”

  “Remember what, Jenkins?” Arabella Rashid asked softly, nervous now, wondering about the past and Simon. My God, what else had he done to her!

  Jenkins sighed softly, said, “Simon. I am afraid he did more than just use you sexually, my lady. It appears he had you secretly programmed long ago to carry out his plan, and that programming kicked in twenty years ago. You know how such things work. It’s based on a secret DOC trigger. At a certain, preordained time, or hour, it just happens. You go to sleep one night as one person—then wake up the next day a totally different person. Since that day you have been doing his will, my lady. Not your own.”

  “Jenkins that is impossible!”

  “No, my lady, it is entirely possible. It happens all the time,” he replied simply, then added softly, “Does the name Moses Sage mean anything to you?”

  Arabella Rashid shook her head, “Of course not. Where did you ever pick up such a preposterous sounding a name?”

  Jenkins stood silent. What he had found out could rock the Department of Control to its very core and surely be a sad end for his lady and himself. It would be a shame if it ever got out. A sin against Her. He had to do something. There had to be another way.

  “You realize what you have said, Jenkins?” Arabella Rashid said, understanding fully the implications and the danger perfectly. “You have just given me a death sentence.”

  “No, my lady.” Jenkins said carefully, “that is not to be...because I will never divulge anything I know.”

  Arabella Rashid was surprised by his words but she knew she could trust him. Jenkins had been—created is not the proper word—but he had been well prepared by the DOC scientists. Specially implanted and programmed to be supremely loyal to her, and her alone. In his mind he could never betray her and continue to live.

  Arabella Rashid smiled at him, “So now what?”

  Jenkins had been thinking about that for some time, since he had found out this information. Now what, indeed? There was one idea that came to him, daring and bold, dangerous and likely to fail, but he had to offer it. “I believe you when you say you have never heard of this Moses Sage. But DOC records prove otherwise. How do we explain the discrepancy?”

  Arabella nodded, she knew now, “Simon. It had to be Simon. He had my mind programmed beforehand, some time before his...death...and soon after his death the new programming kicked in. His death must have been the trigger. Sneaky bastard! He trusted no one. When I awoke the next morning...I was different....”

  “The next morning or the next week, or month, it makes little difference. The change was made. You would not remember much—from before. It seems the only explanation, my lady,” Jenkins offered, then he added, “I am sorry.”

  “So am I, Jenkins. Simon has had his revenge, the monster. He was a genius. He probably had some suspicions or it was just his natural preparation for the possibility that I might take his place some day. I was the only one who could get close enough to him to do it.”

  “It seems likely,” was all Jenkins said in a whisper.

  Arabella Rashid had hardly heard him, she had hardly any awareness of her surroundings at that moment. She spoke in a monotone, like a machine, like a programmed thing. “He did it to me. This was his revenge. He knew I might take over and so he had my mind tampered with. And I know how now, with his own engrams, with his own damn thoughts and personality! He set me up, so he could possess my mind and spirit even after his own death! I can feel him inside me now, making decisions. I have been running the DOC just as he would have done. I have done terrible things, Jenkins. Oh my God, there is great evil, I have much to atone for. A fine revenge, indeed!”

  “I am sorry, my lady,” Jenkins mumbled uselessly, but his emotion and obvious care, touched her deeply.

  “So am I, Jenkins, so am I. I have been a monster—I am a monster! And I don’t know where the truth lies anymore,” she was, crying now, desperate.

  Her situation tore Jenkins apart, it was killing him to see his lady in such pain.

  “What do I do now?” she asked hopelessly.

  Jenkins dared speak up, for his lady, and said, “It’s the paperbacks, my lady. They are the key to the plan that you set in operation twenty years ago. The key to that past you can not remember but must unlock. The paperbacks offer the key to your lost self.”

  Arabella Rashid nodded, Jenkins was correct, “Yes, these paperbacks? And they were shipped out to...?”

  “To Mars, my lady,” Jenkins offered.

  “Mars? There’s something about Mars, Jenkins,” she said as if in a dream.

  “Yes, my lady, there very well may be.”

  Arabella Rashid nodded, looking over at Jenkins with the old determination back in her eyes.

  “Then I shall go to Mars,” she said firmly.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  MARS GETS BOOKS, WOMEN, AND BEER!

  Arabella Rashid hunkered down in her tiny berth in the cramped hold of the Earther spaceship President William Jefferson Clinton. Of course, no one knew her real name, even her most trusted lieutenants, advisors, and agents did not know of her travel plans to Mars. Nor her intentions once she got there. That would be crucial information for anyone back on Earth to know. None of them needed to know any of it. It concerned Arabella Rashid quite a bit as well, because she was not all that sure what her intentions were at this point. In fact, there seemed no reason for her secret mission at all. It was most perplexing.

  Mars was known to be coming along well, everything working out just as planned. Everything going along as expected. All The DOC projections and extrapolations regarding the planet, its colonization, and the men chosen to settle there seemed to be running exactly according to
The DOC plan. Arabella Rashid shook her head. Every-damn-thing seemed so perfect. She knew something had to be wrong.

  She just knew it!

  * * * *

  Time passed.

  Arabella Rashid put down the paperback. She’d been doing a lot of reading on her trip out to Mars and she’d read dozens of them on the long run out. She took a minute and examined the book carefully. She looked over each one of the old quaint books she’d read so many times now that she felt as if she knew them like old friends. They were such strange old relics. Odd curios from LastCen. She wondered where these particular books had come from. She’d found them all in a box under her bed her first night after the lift off from Luna.

  Some lunatic moonman had probably put them there, she shrugged. It didn’t make any sense. Maybe he had forgotten them? It was known the crazy cannibals of Luna, the Lunatics, pulled all kinds of strange stunts. And yet, it was unusual. Everyone knew Lunatics couldn’t read. In fact, they were all damned wireheads, so juiced up on junkware they barely could think coherent thoughts. No, someone had left the old paperbacks for her on purpose. But who? And more importantly, why?

  Arabella Rashid knew the only place where they actually read books anymore—old paperbacks, the reports called them—was on Mars. As she had apparently set the planet up that way decades ago.

  She felt there was some other connection between Mars, her and the paperbacks though. Yet even as she considered it, she could hardly believe her own thoughts on the matter. What possible connection could there be? Logic told her it had to be insignificant at best, or perhaps some silly coincidence, but her gut feelings and the old paperbacks themselves seemed to tell her differently. Wheels within wheels? Boxes within boxes? Or just more meaningless bullshit? Coded messages within coded messages?