The God Mars Book Six: Valhalla I Am Coming (22 page)

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.

“This is pretty normal, actually, as things go in
Mike Ram’s world,” Rick tries to lighten.

The reunion is painfully bittersweet. These people
are not only some of my oldest surviving friends in this world, but
also among the very few who were brave enough to accept me after I
became this.

“I’m sorry I got you all dragged into this,” I begin
poorly. “And I suspect we shouldn’t be getting too friendly.” I nod
at the sentry cameras watching us, recording us.

“Fuck ‘em,” Tru defies, proclaiming her dangerous
loyalty.

“Nothing we say or do is going to change their
opinions of us,” Rick bravely agrees.

“They’re pretty sure we’re under some kind of
nanotech mind control they haven’t figured out how to detect,”
Anton lets me know how pervasive their paranoia is. “There’s even a
theory that we were all tampered with while we were in Hiber. You
and Colonel Ava just got extra helpings, and you activated on some
kind of preset. And maybe we’re all loaded to turn into what you
are at the right moment.”

“These Luddite idiots are afraid of the
sand
,”
Rick digs. But I can still feel his fear.

“They’re not entirely out-of-pocket on that,” I
return impulsively, then hope it’ll be taken as a joke. But I see
Lisa glare at me. She
does
know. (And now I feel a profound
guilt and sadness that she had to deal with that revelation alone,
a prisoner of fearful destructive fools that she couldn’t dare
share any of this with.)

I try to let her know how sorry I am with my eyes,
but she just turns away. I wonder if she knows just how guilty I
am, how I apparently inspired Yod to do the unthinkable.

“At least they’re giving us productive work to do,”
Anton tries to soothe this enraging situation.

“Working on the Harvester problem,” Rick clarifies.
“And your tech, too, of course. I think it’s a test. I suspect
they’re comparing the progress we make against their own, to see if
we’re giving honest effort.”

“
We’re
just doing construction,” Tru
deprecates. “They’d probably have us clearing the perimeter, but I
think they’re afraid we’d either run off or pass intel to someone
hiding in there.” She looks up at the cameras and raises her voice:
“Not that we have any intel worth sharing, since we’ve been kept
locked out of the communication loop since you bastards
landed.”

There’s a tense moment of silence after that, as if
my former teammates aren’t sure if guards will be coming to haul
them away for that outburst.

“We don’t get much better,” Anton adds after nothing
happens, but much quieter than Tru. “They only give us access to
what they think we need to work our projects, and everything we do
is closely monitored, of course. And we don’t go anywhere they
consider critical without an escort.”

“For our own safety,” Rick gives me the official
line.

“Sounds like they’ve de-prioritized the ETE,” I say
another thing I immediately regret.

“For now,” Rick tells me. “As long as they keep
playing nice and stay in their Stations. Asmodeus has been getting
the lion’s share of their attention since the Katar attack. After
this morning, I’d bet he’s their only priority until he’s dealt
with.
If
he can be dealt with.” And he looks at me like he’s
hoping I’ll tell him some good news. I’m afraid I don’t have
any.

“But they think we’re all in this together,” I tell
them what they’ve probably already heard, “and that the ETE are
somehow behind all of it.”

“That’s the UNCORT line,” Rick tries to convince me.
“They’re not all that paranoid. I don’t think General Richards buys
it.”

“I get the impression he’s not terribly popular
because he doesn’t toe the party line.” I look up at the cameras,
wonder who’s watching (and who isn’t).

If my friends have heard of any plans to remove
Richards, they don’t talk about it here. But I suspect I know the
reason he wasn’t in direct command of the Pax mission: He’s losing
(or has already lost) Earthside’s trust.

The conversation devolves into small talk, how
they’ve been keeping busy, complaining about the new-drop food,
making fun of the new-drop repressive morality, grumbling about
their lack of practical experience, their piss-poor rushed
training. Morales has apparently been having a hell of a time
keeping their slick new aircraft in the air, they’re made so
sloppily. Even the new-drop pilots would rather fly the restored
antiques.

But even such idle chatter makes them look frequently
uncomfortable, nervous about openly discussing even the most
trivial topics.

While we chat, we have to contend with a number of
distractions:

The techs working on Ryan have finished performing
surgery on his leg, and have sealed off his couch from the rest of
the ward. Now I can hear them having a hushed argument over whether
or not to start “treatments”, as one of the medics is concerned
that he’ll tear his sutures. The other is more concerned about his
infection, and calls up Burns (not one of the on-planet physicians)
to get permission to proceed. Burns gives it like he’s been
expecting the call, and Ryan’s head and torso are attached to leads
while one of the techs carefully restrains him.

As this is happening, the Iso ward gets more crowded
as they start bringing in other “patients”, all ushered in stripped
naked and made to endure head-to-toe exams before being given
something to wear, just like Lyra was. No consideration is given to
modesty. I recognize the surviving members of Ryan’s team, and
Sharp. The others are probably troopers that somehow got
prioritized, unless there are more Iso wards like this in this
smallish facility. None of these others are visibly wounded, and
none are set up for the same “treatment” that Ryan is. I have to
assume these people have been deemed potentially exposed to
Asmodeus’ DNA hacking “virus”. Those with conventional wounds or
Harvester infections must still be exiled outside.

Ryan’s “treatment” starts, and none of us can ignore
his convulsions as he gets current run through him in hopes of
killing—or at least slowing—the nanotech that will consume his
brain and commandeer his body. His two surviving companions look
particularly distressed by the sight, breaking away from their
exams to watch through the transparency, now oblivious to their own
nudity. The techs run five surges through his body, causing him to
arch up off the couch against his restraints, and knocking aside
the flimsy half-smock that was preserving his own modesty. More
upsetting (to those watching as well as those charged with
administering the procedure), he loses bladder control with the
third jolt. The medics grumble at the inconvenience and rush to
catheterize him, again with no concern at all for modesty or
dignity.