The Gods of War

by Graham Brown

  She thought back to the photo. She had to find the truth. If the man in the picture was James, he would have more reason to fight than anyone. And many of those on the planet would be willing to follow him. She was grasping at straws, but what else did they have?

  She nodded, took the slip of paper and handed the clipboard back to Davis.

  CHAPTER 22

  Secondary Core Unit Work Site

  In the darkness, illuminated by the harsh glare of the mercury lights, a thousand slaves worked on and around the Core Unit. Those with more advanced skills were up in the structure, accompanied by a few techs from Olympia, welding pipes and installing the power conduits. The rest toiled near the base of the structure, excavating trenches and hauling steel plating and other material by hand.

  James and Bethel were part of the second group and were currently lugging a seven foot steel beam designed as a cross brace. On Earth, the beam would have weighed nearly four hundred pounds, but on Mars it was half that and James and Bethel could carry it up the slope, with one man lifting each end.

  They could lift it, but that didn’t mean it was easy.

  Both of them were struggling, feet slipping in the dust, arms and legs aching. Bethel was feeling the worst of it.

  “You look like you’re dying,” James said.

  “I feel like it,” Bethel grunted. “The air is too thin. I can hardly breathe.”

  “I thought they gave us something for that,” James asked.

  Bethel nodded. “They did. But if they used what I think they did. It’ll take a few days to build up the red blood cells in your system.”

  Talking made it harder to breath, and the short conversation was too much. After a few more steps Bethel stopped and dropped his end of the beam. He leaned over, hands on his knees, his chest heaving and falling. For a moment it looked like he might throw up.

  As others passed by them, a guard aimed a flashlight their way. “Back in line,” the man grunted. “Keep it moving!”

  James dug in and got a better grip on the beam, preparing to shoulder more of the load. Bethel reached down and grasped his end, wearily hoisting it up.

  They soon began moving again, with James holding most of the weight.

  “Be careful,” Bethel said wheezing. “You’re helping someone other than yourself.”

  “Shut up,” James said, with a smirk.

  They finally reached the staging area and dropped off the beam. A second group of slaves placed it on a cart and wheeled it and two others toward an elevator. High above, acetylene torches flashed as the monstrous structure was slowly stitched together.

  Bethel tried to take another rest, but James got him moving. “Come on,” he said. “It’s a lot easier going down.”

  They got in line with the other slaves and trudged down the hill, breathing hard and scuffing their tired feet. As they neared the bottom a high-pitched alarm began to wail. It sounded like the air raid sirens that had been so prevalent during the War of Unification.

  As work ground to a halt all around them, James noticed one of the mercenaries check his watch.

  “Back to the camps!” a voice shouted. “Sunrise in eight minutes.”

  The slaves who were still carrying things put down their burdens and turned around. The welding in the tower dwindled to a few sparks and then ceased. James turned his eyes to the east. He noticed a different shade on the horizon, a lighter grey.

  One of the guards gave him a shove. “Get moving!” he shouted. “Unless you want to fry.”

  The wave of humanity began to sweep down the hill toward a shantytown made of metal siding, reflective tarps and holes in the ground.

  James and Bethel followed, exhausted and moving slowly. By the time they reached the shelter, the tunnels and their nooks and crannies were all filled and spoken for. The only space left for the newcomers in the overcrowded camp were the spots beneath layered metallic tarps. Casting around for some space, they found an unclaimed spot near the entrance and all but collapsed to the floor.

  “I don’t think I’ll last very long here,” Bethel said.

  “It will get easier as we adjust,” James said, staring out at the changing color of the horizon.

  “No,” Bethel said, “this kind of work is hard on the body and mine’s old.”

  As Bethel spoke, a wizened little man came by shouting something at all the newcomers. He had a thick accent and a high-pitched voice that made it hard to understand.

  “This camp is not in a green zone,” he said. “Move back. Stay inside. The sun will kill you. The sun will kill.”

  He moved on, warning others and James had to smile. “That guy seems to be doing alright and he’s a lot older than you.”

  Bethel shook his head and then lay down, muttering something about there being no point to survival, but James wasn’t really listening anymore. He was staring out at the horizon as it turned pink with the coming sun.

  As he watched in fascination, a sliver crescent of light began to burn in a wide arc along the horizon. It looked as if the world was catching fire as it painted the sand a deep blood red. Despite all misery and pain, James stared in fascination, waiting for the sunrise. Waiting to feel its heat and light, like he never had on Earth.

  Before the sun broke the horizon, the tarp was pulled down in front of him with a snap, blotting out the view.

  James turned to see a pair of burly men who’d been acting like foremen of some kind, directing the other workers on the job site. They seemed better fed than most, a better class of slave apparently. They glared at him as if he’d violated some rule.

  The little wizard of a man came up beside them. He waggled his finger at James. “It will kill you,” he said. “Remember that.”

  Several hours later, the vast majority of the slaves were sprawled out on the ground, trying to sleep on makeshift beds of dirty rags or simply laying on the rust colored ground using their folded hands for pillows. Others were further back, down in the catacombs or beneath the shantytown’s makeshift tin roof, trying to choke down more of the protein mix that seemed to be the only source of food.

  James found he couldn’t sleep, and much as he knew he had to eat, he had only one desire at the moment. Eventually it got the best of him.

  He stood, walked toward the tarp and untied one corner where it was staked down.

  No one stirred. No one tried to stop him.

  He lifted the flap to the side, opening a gap of several inches. The sun had traveled high above and was falling behind them now. Shadows from the tent made a space of several feet where the solar radiation was blocked, or so James hoped. Quietly, he stepped through the flap and stood in the shade.

  He crouched in the shade, staring at the wonders of Mars. Rolling plains stretched out before him, pockmarked by craters and shallow gullies that seemed to crisscross the surface. In the distance cliffs marking the edge of a canyon loomed, and beyond that the awe-inspiring presence of Olympus Mons bathed in the sunlight. It rose to a height of twenty-five miles, five times as tall as Mount Everest on Earth. It was the largest mountain in the solar system. And from a hundred miles off it was majestic.

  The flap moved behind him and James turned.

  “Thought maybe you’d had enough and decided to fry yourself,” Bethel said.

  James grinned and looked off into the distance. “I’ve never seen light like this,” he said. “Never seen the real sun bathe the landscape. Nothing but the pollution and the acid filled clouds.”

  He turned back to Bethel. “There’s something so pure about it. It’s almost worth being a slave to see.”

  Bethel slipped through and let the tarp fall back into place. He crouched beside James. “When I was a child, my mother would take me to a place up in the mountains. Far to the north. On the longest days of summer, you could still see the sun from there, but even then it was shrouded, distant and cold.”

  Suddenly, James thought of his father and their argument about whether the Earth could even be saved. It
seemed pointless at the time. But seeing the open plains, unspoiled by filth or trash or the endless sprawling structures required by the massive population, he felt differently. Gazing at the beauty of the landscape painted with real sunlight—even deadly sunlight—he finally understood what his father dreamed of in a way he’d never grasped before.

  The Earth didn’t have to stay as it was. It might take centuries, but if humanity could ruin the planet maybe they could heal it. Maybe if he’d sided with his father when the old man had reached out to him, the world would have still had a chance. But now…

  “What have I done?” he whispered.

  “What was that?”

  James hesitated. Bethel had become a friend, his only friend in the world, but James could not reveal the truth to him. It would put them both in danger. Every camp had its snitches. This one would be no different.

  “I mean humanity,” he said vaguely. “What have we done? If things continue as they are, no one on Earth will ever see the sunrise again.”

  “Isn’t that what this place is supposed to be about?” Bethel asked. “Buying time for the Earth to begin healing itself?”

  “I suppose that was the president’s plan,” James said. “But something’s changed.”

  “Changed?”

  James hesitated again. “Have you ever heard of the Cartel?”

  “The thousand families?”

  James nodded. “Shortly before I met you, I heard that they were revolting against the government. That they were determined to take this place for their own and leave the rest of humanity to die.”

  “The fighting we heard in the tunnels,” Bethel said. “Are you saying there was a new war beginning?”

  “Could have been,” James said. “I really have no idea what’s happened since I fell down the rabbit hole. But the people working us are not regulars. And that tells me something.”

  “We have to do something,” Bethel said. “You wanted to reach the military back on Earth. Maybe you still can. Maybe we can escape. No one seems to be guarding us.”

  James looked out across the open plain once again. Escape sounded deceptively simple. But it was complicated.

  A night escape would be almost impossible. Guards were everywhere, walking among the workers, watching from small towers that sprouted all around the work site, riding around the perimeter in hopped up armored personnel carriers. James had even spotted a couple of old MRVs out beyond the fence keeping watch over everything.

  The day seemed to be a different story—all the king’s men retreated with the sunrise, slinking away like nocturnal predators to a shelter somewhere —leaving the camp and the worksite essentially unguarded. It was an illusion; Olympia and the Green Zone lay far out of reach, beyond an un-crossable desert watched over by the blazing sun.

  James offered a sad smile. “They don’t need to guard us,” James said. “The sun is doing it for them.”

  “We have to do something?”

  James nodded. Sure. But what could slaves do, other than their master’s bidding?

  CHAPTER 23

  Governor Cassini was in his office getting measured for a new uniform, one more fitting for a governor.

  “We have a problem,” a deep voice called out to him.

  Cassini turned to see Magnus Gault standing in the open doorway. “You’re interrupting me,” Cassini said. “This better be important.”

  “More important than getting your clothes tailored, I assure you of that.”

  Cassini motioned to the courtiers. “Come back in an hour,” he said and then he sat down behind his desk and grabbed the staff-like scepter he’d begun to carry. It had a golden shaft and a black dragon’s head on the top. All leaders should have a symbol; he felt this one was appropriate for him.

  “What’s this all about?” Cassini asked. “What kind of problem have you discovered?”

  “I’ve been looking over your reports to Lucien,” Gault said, holding up a small device and reading off of it.

  “The military situation is stable,” Gault said, reading Cassini’s words. “All possible subversives have been rounded up and are being held in custody.”

  “Yes,” Cassini said. “The Colonial Infantry has been disbanded. Some of the men have been mixed into our units. The rest are being held, as are all the commanders who resisted our new orders. We are in fine shape.”

  “Are we?” Gault replied. “There are four squadrons of MRVs unaccounted for. A full brigade from the 41st Armored Division.”

  Cassini nodded knowingly. He hadn’t quite explained this to Lucien. “Yes, they are a small problem. They refuse to come back to Olympia. They claim to be hunting terrorists.”

  “You and I know there are no terrorists here,” Gault said. “So why are you allowing this?”

  Cassini was perturbed. He didn’t like having Gault around. “Because they’re a danger.”

  “Dangers must be dealt with,” Gault said.

  Cassini didn’t like being questioned, but the world he and Gault inhabited was less stratified than the military. Rank meant little in comparison to power and the will to use it. He sensed Gault challenging him. It brought his own ire to the forefront.

  “I’m dealing with them my own way.”

  “By ignoring them?”

  “By letting them grind their strength down in this useless charade. They’ve been out there for a month now. Even if they’re rationing their supplies they must be running low by now. A few more weeks out in the wastes without maintenance and their machines will be useless.”

  Gault sat back and put his filthy boots up on Cassini’s desk. He seemed to be thinking. “Weak,” he said finally.

  Cassini knew how it looked, but he considered it shrewd. He stared at Gault. “You’re in charge of our armed units,” he said. “Perhaps you’d prefer to challenge them. Meet them in the desert for a showdown? After all, there are only forty-eight of them. If you take everything we have, you’ll bring a hundred and nineteen units into battle. Not all of them top of the line like the machines in the 41st, but a capable force none-the-less.”

  Gault paused and ran a hand across his chin. Mercenary units that tangled with the regular armed forces had fared badly in the past. The regulars of the United World Military had been at war too long, they were too well trained, too experienced, too disciplined.

  “I…um… see your point,” Gault said at last. “But they’re still a danger.”

  “They won’t be for long.” Cassini said, grinning. “The summer is just beginning. The dust storms will follow and when the storms come, the men and women of the 41st will be forced to choose. If they return to Olympia and stand down in the shelters, we will deal with the commanders harshly and impound their MRVs. If they remain in the field, they will die out there, choking on the dust, and the sun will bleach their bones.”

  Gault raised an eyebrow, which Cassini took as grudging admiration for his plan. “And if they decide to fight, rather than wait for their own inevitable demise?”

  “They’ll have to come to us. You’ll be ready for them. And you’ll have all the advantages.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Secondary Core Unit Work Site

  As dusk approached, the wailing siren rang out again, followed by the sound of a small convoy pulling up to the edges of the camp. The weary slaves roused themselves from sleep or other meaningless activities and began to file out through the various exits.

  The second day of work was more brutal than the first, and though James found himself with more energy, his body ached with a type of soreness he could not remember. Halfway through the shift, the Solaris Array settled below the horizon and the cold rushed in. Their sweat-soaked clothes quickly chilled them to the bone.

  At some point a worker refused to get up and was summarily shot. Another slave was caught trying to steal a sharp piece of metal that could have been used for a weapon. Instead of a quick death, he was dragged off to some unknown fate.

  Little was said, and the work
continued.

  When the shift finally ended, the procession back to the camp began in earnest and even James found himself longing just to lay down on the hard, dusty ground and fall asleep. But as they approached the tents, the slave master and his men began separating a small number of the new arrivals.

  “Don’t look at them,” James whispered. “Just keep walking.”

  It seemed like a good plan until the slave-master grabbed James by the shoulder.

  “Ares!” he said, studying a hand held display that told him who James was officially. “Get on the truck.”

  Bethel paused.

  “Keep moving,” The slave-master grunted.

  Bethel passed him by and James turned toward a covered flatbed truck like the one that had brought them in. He climbed in the back with thirty others and tried not to think too hard about where they might be going.

  As the truck moved off, he watched the work site slowly disappear behind him while the sands around it grew brighter in the coming day. Despite the uncomfortable surroundings and his fascination with the natural light, exhaustion overtook James and he soon fell asleep.

  By the time he woke up, they were entering Olympia. Miles of green fields led to a city of white buildings beneath a pale pink sky, so neat and clean it looked unreal.

  An hour later he was sitting in one of the medical bays on the outskirts of the city. For a moment he was alone. Ahead of him on a tray were several hypodermic needles and a scalpel. He stretched forward, palmed the scalpel and hid it in his sleeve.

  A second later the door opened and a woman came in. To his utter surprise, James recognized her instantly.

  “I’m Dr. Ankaris,” she said.

  He nodded, trying not to react in any obvious way.

  The lab tech who’d been studying him finished a scan and passed the device to Hannah.

  She looked at it and nodded. “Set the others up in the main room, we’ll do this as quick as we can.”

  “Yes Doctor,” the lab tech replied.