The God Mars Book Two: Lost Worlds

by Michael Rizzo

  Kastl gets the uplink open as the rest of us sit down, Paul on his father’s left and me on his right. To fill out the table, I chose to have Anton, Rick, Tru, and Doc Halley join us; a mix of science, medicine and conscience. The only soldiers at the table will be me and John Wayne Sutter (who’s become our indefinite Knight-in-Residence, though he’s chosen to wear a plain UNMAC uniform for this show).

  Kastl reminds us there will be an awkward two-stage delay, as it will take twenty minutes to transmit to Earth, but our incoming relief is now only just over five minutes transmission time from us. This is one time I’m glad the ETE have such glacial patience.

  We all get seated, try to look like this doesn’t have the potential to go very bad very quickly. After asking our guests if they’re ready, I give Kastl the signal to start recording. I make my introduction:

  “To the people of Earth, esteemed delegates of the United Nations, and my U.N.M.A.C. commanders, I’d like to introduce Doctor Mark Stilson, Chief Atmosphere Scientist and governing Council member of the on-planet Environmental Terraforming Enterprises…”

  Stilson nods with polite serenity, and addresses the primary camera evenly:

  “Greetings to you all, and my thanks to Colonel Ram for giving me this forum to speak with you. While I understand you have your reasons not to trust me or my people, reasons to fear us, I wish to assure you once again that our only priority is creating and maintaining an environment on this planet viable for all the people that live here, and for all the people that will live here. I hope that is a priority you can also appreciate, despite how you may feel about our methods. Perhaps in time, we can earn your trust.

  “But now there is a pressing threat to what all my fellows and our children have worked and sacrificed for. It would be easy to see Syan Chang as simply a threat to our technology, which he has made clear he intends to eliminate by any means necessary. Those of you that fear us may sympathize with his cause. But he has also clearly threatened your fellows on this planet, proved his intention to prevent you from establishing any relief operations, and worse: he has shown that he is willing to threaten or exploit all human populations on this planet.”

  His voice stays pretty even, his face calm, but I’ve heard him speak enough times to recognize an edge. He’s upset by what his people have just discovered, what he’s come here to tell. I wonder if he would present better if he sounded as shaken as I expect he is.

  “I have come here today to share with you our most recent findings, and to show you what ‘any means necessary’ apparently means to this single-minded monster.”

  Paul feeds the files he’s brought with him to our screens, and Kastl splices them into the upload. It starts with multiple videos of familiar sights: the Zodangan canyon, their empty caves. Then it looks like other places I’ve seen: dozens upon dozens bodies laid out in neat rows of post-mortem respect, anonymous but fresh. Men, women, children. Then pictures of how they were found, scattered on the floors of stone chambers, looking like they’d been packed in where they died, or huddled together.

  “We discovered this atrocity and more as we explored the abandoned Zodangan stronghold. Our action against Nina Harper, who calls herself Brimstone, did not do this. It appears the Zodangans did—we just don’t know if by choice or under duress. When the complex was evacuated, they took everything of value, including the atmosphere seals and heaters. These people all suffocated and froze. It would be like leaving them just below the summit of Mount Everest unprotected. My people have recovered one hundred and twenty-three bodies so far. Examinations show a mix of advanced age, chronic infirmity, physical disability, even recent injury…”

  They took everything of value, left the rest. Apparently that applied to their own people as well.

  “We found seventeen more bodies when we started to excavate the collapsed Zodangan mines…”

  More bodies laid out, these thickly crusted with ruddy Martian dirt. Some look visibly crushed.

  “This was likely to result of dangerously rushed mining operations, as the Zodangans, or Chang, pushed completion of whatever they are working on. But what we found at the site of Frontier Colony was even more disturbing…”

  The video show shifts again to things I’ve already seen: the freshly excavated craters where the PK colony used to be. All that’s left are bulldozed piles of shattered concrete, stripped of the reinforcing metals, and—like Zodanga—assorted junk. It reminds me of a sloppy job of building demolition, assuming the buildings had extensive sub-basements.

  But then we see another pit, and—at least for me—another too-familiar sight from a past I hoped had been left to history:

  The ETE have found a mass grave.

  “One hundred and forty bodies so far,” Stilson details heavily. “At least they took the time to bury them, even if it was with bulldozers, though probably less out of respect than to hide their crimes. Like the Zodangan atrocity, the casualties are a mix of adults and children, but not all appear sick or disabled. They look like workers, laborers, bearing the physiological scars of poor diet and hard living, including exposure to solar radiation, extreme cold and low atmospheric pressure. Several were amputees, wearing homemade prosthetics. Unlike the bodies at Zodanga, these souls did not succumb to the elements. A handful had gunshot wounds, and a few more had been beaten to death. We estimate these died first, possibly punitively or as examples to their fellows, likely over a period of weeks. The rest all seem to have died on the same day—within the last week—and these had the questionable mercy of having their throats cut. Or maybe their murders simply didn’t want to spare the bullets.”

  He lets us digest it as best we can. I’m regretting having non-soldiers at the table. (But then, the Stilsons—the ETE—aren’t soldiers either. They’re supposed to be scientists.)

  Rick has been in this life with me long enough that this isn’t new to him, but I can see it sicken him. And I know Tru has seen tragedy and atrocity in her time on Mars—much of it inflicted on people she knew personally—but certainly (thankfully) nothing of this scale; she looks shaken, pale, and I see that specific flavor of rage that comes with being helpless. Halley just shakes her head, mouth slack, eyes lost in the screens. Anton looks like he’s about to boil.

  Sutter, for his part, keeps his anger locked down. But when I catch his gaze, I don’t think he’s terribly surprised by this news. I remember how Grandmaster Kendricks described what they knew of the PK, how they allegedly devalued their non-military personnel (and military status is apparently a birthright).

  I feel my own programming kick in hard. Old triggers. Old drives. I would make war on these monsters. I would slaughter them.

  But I need to be better than that on this planet.

  “This horror isn’t the only reason I have chosen to address you today,” Stilson continues after a long, difficult silence, sounding like it’s taking some effort to settle his own voice. The screens shift from death to mystery: the huge rectangular imprint in the regolith next to the now-missing Frontier Colony. “We may have more pressing priorities than justice. The reckless mining and the stripping of the colony would have produced far more raw materials than it would take to make a fleet of the aircraft we have seen so far. This imprint measures two hundred and fifty by twenty five meters. The depth and soil compression indicates a mass equivalent to five thousand tons weight at one Earth gravity. The soil has been exposed to significant levels of electromagnetic radiation, similar to what was detected from the lift system of the ship Chang used to attack this base, only exponentially more powerful.

  “The soil around the imprint shows extensive foot and small vehicle traffic, and is littered with signs of construction cast-off. There is also trace radiation that may explain what happened to the colony reactors.” His video presentation zooms and highlights, feeding us a wealth of information. “There are traces of solid rocket fuel, as well as these unusual blast-patterns…”

  Barely visible until enhanced, they blossom out fro
m the edges of the rectangle and various points.

  “My impression is that they may have tested the integrity of whatever they built by bombarding it with what they expect to face.”

  They made something bigger than a naval destroyer, and then made sure it could survive our weapons.

  “As you can see, there are no drag-marks, no sign that whatever this is was moved overland. The soil compression would be difficult to create without something of that mass actually resting there.”

  It’s not a hoax to distract or intimidate us. And it flew out of there.

  Stilson lets the images flow in silence for several seconds before he starts speaking again. This time, his words sound even more measured.

  “Given the time delay before reply, for the sake of expedience I will address what I expect your most obvious rebuttals to be:

  “Some of you may believe we faked the images and data. You have your own people on planet. It would be simple enough to fly them out to the sites in question, let them do their own investigations. The evidence remains intact and in place as it was found, except for the bodies, which we have yet to respectfully bury. And because we anticipated your doubts, we have held off on burying the dead—a difficult and unpopular decision, I assure you.”

  He breathes. I see his fingers squeeze tighter together on the table top.

  “A few of you may even attempt to claim that we committed these atrocities ourselves, to further some sinister agenda. I would hope that your interactions with us to date—the experiences of your own good people on this planet—have given you no reason to believe us to be capable of casual mass-murder. But if that is your unshakable belief, then we have nothing further to discuss.

  “I thank you again for agreeing to hear me, and hope that we can work together for the sake of the future of this planet, for the sake of us all.”

  I nod to Kastl to end the recording and upload everything.

  Then we wait.

  “Can we get you anything?” I offer, fully expecting to be turned down. Stilson takes a long, shuddering breath, and surprises me:

  “Do you have any coffee left?”

  We don’t speak much in the interim. I think we’re all still in varying degrees of shock and rage over what we’ve seen, and spinning our brains on what we expect Earthside to say. Sadly, I think we all expect some version of what Stilson preemptively countered: That UNCORT, or some other extremist faction, will try to claim that the ETE are the villains here, that they are the true masters of the Discs and all of this has been staged because whatever they attempted to accomplish with the Apocalypse is threatening to be undone.

  I take the opportunity to discreetly check on our other target audience: I had Rios provide screens to our makeshift POW camp. I wanted the pirates and the PK to see what they’d missed during their captivity. I want them to know what they’re going back to when we release them.

  As usual, they’re a disciplined and stoic lot when they know they’re being watched, so I try to read the subtle cues that sheer willpower can’t always suppress. They tense. They fidget. I see their eyes dart to one another, and barely visible head shakes. And on a few I see pain, horror, rage, shame.

  They don’t believe. They won’t believe. But they doubt.

  I think I see the most out of them when the ETE show them close-ups of the bodies, show them what’s left of people they probably knew.

  The pirates look like they’re having the hardest time containing themselves. Maybe they’re seeing comrades, maybe family. Parents. Siblings. Spouses. Children. Maybe they knew it was coming. Maybe they hoped it really wasn’t. Or maybe they were kept in the dark while they were sent off to war, their loved-ones murdered while they were away and unable to help, unable to save anyone. Or maybe I’m just reading in what I want to believe.

  The PK look icier, which gives veracity to the brutal separation of their social castes. Not all, though (or maybe that’s what I want to believe). I zoom in on Straker. She looks like she’s been made an unwilling party to horror. I know that look very well.

  In ten minutes, Richards comes in on an encrypted flash.

  “Doctor Stilson, I’d like to take my opportunity—any doubts and questions aside—to simply thank you and your people personally, not only for the intelligence you have provided, but for your ongoing support of our people on planet. Beyond that, I’m afraid I can’t speak to policy without specific direction from the United Nations.

  “Colonel Ram, if this intelligence is accurate, it only further validates your recent command decisions. Please know that I do respect you as a leader of men, with field experience beyond what even I can imagine. I salute you and your brave people. I expect you will be facing even more trying times—I hope I am mistaken. God be with you. End transmission.”

  In my head, I hear Matthew say something rude and much needed.

  I catch Tru rolling her eyes. The look I get from Sutter is more telling: I read a flash of incredulity, only suppressed by his discipline—I expect he’s questioning the quality of our once-mutual leaders.

  Thirty minutes later, we get Secretary General Satrapi.

  “Speaking on behalf of the people of Earth, I would like to thank Dr. Stilson for his presentation, knowing that my gratitude is poor payment for everything that he and his people have apparently done and sacrificed on our behalf.

  “Out of appreciation for that, Dr. Stilson, I will forgo ritual diplomacy, and let you know that you have not judged us completely unfairly. There is indeed a lot of doubt from many directions about the veracity of what you have presented to us, so please do not be offended if we ask that Colonel Ram sends observers to confirm your reports. There is much about what has happened on Mars during our regrettable absence that has caused us confusion, doubt, sorrow and fear. I hope our future dealings with you will serve to build trust. And be assured, no one in any position of policy-making authority has accused you or your people of mass murder…”

  There is just too much to read into the words that she—or her speech writer—has carefully chosen, as well as the words she has carefully avoided. I expect Stilson’s fears were more than accurate. I expect his people are being called all manner of monsters in less diplomatic forums. And I expect the Earthside leaders are too afraid of what the ETE might do if they were directly challenged. (I’ve heard too many statements like this tossed back and forth between the leaders of enemy nations that would eagerly go to war but fear unacceptable losses; so they deny, they smile, they play the polite rituals.)

  (And I am yet again doubting I should sit in command with such poor trust in my leadership. I remind myself I’ve been in worse situations. Here, I only have vague doubt, however persistent. And my fear of the worst. Sign I’m becoming unfit? Slipping into paranoia? Senility?)

  “Our best people are aggressively analyzing what you’ve sent us. Rest assured that all of humanity is mobilizing to provide you all with support, and—God willing—adequate defense. We all pray that God watches over you and protects you until that help can reach you. God bless you all.”

  I get variations of the same uneasy look from Tru, Anton, Halley and Rick. Exactly what kind of “support” and “defense” the entire population is supposedly “mobilizing” to provide us was too intentionally vague not to spur the imagination into bad places. (But then again: Satrapi probably didn’t want to risk giving details in a transmission that could potentially be heard by the opposition.)

  The Stilsons are still as statues (though Paul looks like he wants to scream).

  Sutter looks like a soldier who’s been given bad orders. He looks shocked, dismayed, no matter how much he tries to maintain his professional stoicism.

  “Dr. Stilson, if you’d like to stretch, I’ll give you a tour of our greenhouses,” Tru offers, breaking the tension, “let your see how those plants samples you gave us are coming.”

  “I would like that,” Stilson agrees, forcing a polite smile over what I read as suppressed disappointment.

/>   I notice Paul doesn’t get up as his father leaves with Tru. Mark Stilson seems not to notice that his son fails to follow them out.

  “There is more that we need to discuss in a less public forum,” Paul lets me know.

  I look around the room: Rick, Anton and Halley have not budged. Kastl looks uncomfortable, wondering if he should step out. But Paul seems content to speak in front of them.

  “We didn’t find Brimstone while we were digging through the Zodangan cave network, but we did find Sakura’s men.”

  He flashes us images of two recovered bodies, covered in dirt, shinobi sealsuits shredded by explosive force. Both have limbs missing.

  “The good news is that we found no sign of nanotech implantation in these two, but their uniforms and weapons show significant materials advancements as compared to the previous ninjas we’ve encountered. The outer fabric has integrated optical camouflage, similar to FOLED technology, that projects images onto opposite sides of the skin with matching visible light output, creating an impressive functional invisibility illusion. Their swords and projectile weapons were capable of cutting at a molecular level—a less-armored body would have been easily penetrated and cleaved through. The materials also have an organic component, likely designed to defeat our selective disintegration fields.”

  “Their new toys aren’t just for fighting Chang,” I follow.

  “I’m sure they still see us as an enemy, or at least a competitor to steal from,” he lets me know what his people have been considering. “I expect their intent will be proven by action soon enough.”

  Then he shows us new images. I recognize the twisted metal “statue”, headless and almost torn in half, freshly dug out of the caves.