The God Mars Book Four: Live Blades (24 page)

All my fear is gone. I’m free of it. (Of course I
feel fear for the lives of others—that’s what drives me now; but
what fear I had for myself—about myself—the fear that paralyzed me,
made me hesitate in the face of violence—that fear has been purged
from me.)

I faced Asmodeus, and I faced him without fear.
Fought with him, held my own, made him run from me. Made him
fear
me. I faced his bots—machines meant to kill even
modified beings like me—and I beat them.

And now I’m running to take more of his toys from
him.

The forest is a blur as I fly through it. I have to
try not to laugh out loud—my legs are moving impossibly fast. I
expect I could cross a kilometer in less than two minutes. And I
can leap dozens of meters into the air.

Companion
. That’s what Fohat called my blade,
his best guess at its nature. He also called it “unstable”. I don’t
care. I don’t even care that it’s apparently tried to access my
Station network. “Tried” implies “failed”, so it was unable to gain
access. I expect this may be just a design feature, a default
process: as it interfaced with me, connected to me and modified me,
it would certainly have accessed my deactivated internal links,
explored their function. I have no reason to believe the blade is
hostile to me or my own—in fact, it’s actively helping me to
protect those I care about right now. Its ability to interface with
other networks was invaluable in facing the Box bots, and it’s
invaluable now:

I can “hear” them. The blade is letting me pick up on
the bots’ signals at distance, locating them. There is indeed a
force of them descending on the western end of the Spine, likely
attacking Abbas and his people. But there’s another force—a larger
set of signals—moving further west, into the North Blade…

…and I realize I’m being pulled off course.

North-northwest instead of north-northeast. I try to
correct, but somehow I keep drifting the wrong way. (Or does the
sword think it’s the right way? There are more targets…)

My world explodes as something collides with me,
slamming into me from my left flank. I hear and feel the clang of
metal on metal as my sword meets something just as hard. There’s a
flash of light, of blue-white plasma, and I’m thrown sideways,
tumbling through the brush, smashing into trees, bouncing.

But not breaking. Or losing my grip on the sword. I’m
aching, the wind knocked out of me, but I should have been crushed
by the impact. I get up, stand to face my attacker, shaking off the
plant debris and raising my blade, ready for anything.

“
Erickson!!!
”

No.

“Erickson! You will come with me! Right now!”

And I see him, coming through the green at me: It’s
Elias. But not. His white hair—his proudly-worn “recessive
aberration”—has grown out long, like mine. His red sealsuit has
been supplemented with scales of dark metallic armor. There’s a
look of murder on his pale features, a rage in his eyes that I
could never imagine coming from my stoic, detached, self-absorbed
sibling. And he’s gripping a sword.

Just like mine.

“You. Will. Come. With. Me.”

In my hands, my sword begins to sing, to scream.

His blade answers in kind.

Jak Straker:

“I need to deal with this,” the machine that looks
like a man (as long as he’s wearing his cowl) calmly insists.

He’s let himself out of his “cell” and is heading for
the airlock. Wei tries to block his path, ICW in hand but not
leveled. I’m on one side in the hatchway to my own “cell”,
informally confined to quarters until Earthside can “review my
status,” given recent revelations. Rios and Jane are behind him,
having come from the Bridge.

“That means I need to get closer. Now.”

Nobody budges, but nobody argues. The
machine—Dee—makes his point:

“Whatever is trying to hack the ETE network is smart
and powerful. And it’s using a terraformer’s implants, so I’m
assuming that my former charge has done something
characteristically stupid and gotten himself captured, probably by
Chang, given where the signal is coming from. Do you want to
imagine what Chang would do if he gained access to Station or
Atmosphere Net control, or should I generate some predictive
models?”

“And if Chang gets hold of you, what could he hack
into?” Rios counters, nodding at the open hatch.

“Nothing he couldn’t anyway,” Dee returns, still
creepily calm. “If he has Erickson Carter, he’s just using his
internal link. The hack itself must be his own, and it’s very good,
even by my standard. That means he could hack into the UNMAC
network at any time, just like Colonel Ram can. You’d have to shut
down to block him, just like you did to convince Ram to stay
out—except that won’t stop Chang from trying. You’d have to
stay
shut down. The only reason he hasn’t is that he thinks
he has nothing practical to gain, other than listening to your
transmissions, which he can do passively.”

“But if he can crack the ETE, he could shut down the
Atmosphere Net, let the air bleed away,” Lyra comes in behind Wei.
“Or worse: melt down the Station reactors. All of them. He could
kill everyone living here, and force Earth to leave Marineris for
decades.”

“Without firing a shot,” Jane grumbles.

“We can’t wait for nightfall,” I shoot down our
original plan, then add for respect: “Captain.”

Rios locks up for a few seconds, but only a few. Then
he looks Dee in the eye.

“You have a better plan?”

Machine Man doesn’t hesitate.

“We divide. You take this vehicle back out of here,
get a clear signal back to your commanders. Give them a sitrep and
get a response spun up: air support, satellite, whatever they have.
Just let them know there are thousands of people living here, out
in the open, so no nukes. I take a small team into the Central
Blade, to Lucifer’s Grave or wherever the hack is coming from. I
can protect your people, avoid the locals, maybe even Chang’s
patrol bots. Then if I can’t stop the hack, at least we can paint
the target for you.” He rotates his head smoothly, looks at me. “I
need
her
. If we can make contact with Colonel Ram, we could
use his help.”

“Assuming he’s not the one doing the hacking,” Carson
voices Earthside’s policy, hanging back by the armory locker. Rios
gives her a hard glare. Then he looks at me.

“What’s your assessment, Lieutenant?”

“I think we need to try, sir.”

“Wei,” he orders, “you go with them. Crack out
H-As…”

“No heavy armor,” Dee corrects. “We need to move
fast. L-As. Basic survival gear. Squad weapons.”

Rios nods his agreement. Wei moves with purpose to
collect our gear.

“Thank you, Captain,” the machine has good
manners.

“Give Colonel Ram my best, assuming you do find
him.”

My Earth-born comrades call this a “forest” with such
easy familiarity, like it’s as common a thing as sand or rock. And
maybe it is, on their planet. (Again, I really wasn’t paying
attention during those lessons, something I’m regretting more and
more the further we move into this strange new world.) To me, it’s
beyond unsettling. It defies every attempt to move and operate in
it like that’s what it was designed to do. It’s a tactical
nightmare. There’s no visibility. Our sat-maps are our only
orientation in here. It’s almost impossible to tread with any kind
of stealth. (And it smells funny, like garden recycle.)

How did they fight wars in environments like this on
Earth? (If I had the option, I’d cut and blast and burn it all
away, but I know the plants provide oxygen and food, and scrub the
CO2 out of the air. But does there need to be so much of it? Does
it need to grow so tall?)

I know if I wasn’t worried that there was something
(probably a lot of somethings) potentially hiding just a few meters
away from me waiting to kill me and I’d never see it coming, I’d
probably think the place was beautiful, wonderful. But mortal
terror has priority on my perception right now, and it’s making me
miss the open deserts of home.

Most disturbing, we get buzzed by more curious
creatures—first butterflies, then dragons. (Thankfully they are
only curious, but I fear their stirring might give away our
position—was this ever a problem for Earth warfighters?)

Despite the adversarial environment, Dee leads us
quickly and smoothly, talking to us directly through our links to
guide us, stopping us when he detects a potential threat, turning
us to avoid it, always calm and almost reassuring. The machine
moves like a man, only maybe more precise—I suppose I only notice
because I know what he is, so I’m scrutinizing. And I’m still not
sure that I trust him. So I spin contingency plans. If he turns on
us… He’s stronger, faster, tougher—but we brought weapons expecting
Chang bots. (I keep my finger near my ICW’s manual override switch,
just in case.) He could hack our maps, our links, disorient us and
cut off our communications…

We start hearing gunfire, explosions. It sounds like
a skirmish, somewhere southeast of us. The thick growth makes it
impossible to estimate range.

We hike for half an hour, manage to cover a few
nerve-racking klicks without incident. But then Dee stops dead. He
looks like he’s trying to see something in the air.

“What?”

“Problem, Lieutenant. I’m picking up another hacking
signal, almost identical to the first. But it’s coming from a
second location. ETE link. ETE target. Different ID code.”

“Can you tell whose?”

“I don’t have access to the ETE network. But they
seem to have shut it down to block the attack.”

“Location?”

“Southwest. Closer to the local Station. Five or six
kilometers.”

“What about the original?”

“Hasn’t moved. Still dead ahead.”

“Which one do we go for?” Wei asks over my
shoulder.

“Primary is still most promising,” Dee calculated.
“It may be the source. Number Two may just be a repeater.”

We move.

The growth actually gets thicker, slowing our
progress. I’m grateful that I’m used to moving through tight
spaces, though they’re usually not alive. It takes us an hour to
make two more klicks. I still hear intermittent battle sounds
coming from somewhere east of us.

Dee holds us up again.

“Bots passing west of us.”

I hear them myself several seconds later: crushing
through the green. They feel close as they pass maybe a few dozen
meters off our flank, heading back the way we came. I wonder if
they’re heading for our ride. Dee catches me looking back.

“There are settlements that way. Apparently we’re not
a significant enough target. Just don’t fire on them.”

“They can see us?” I whisper.

“Just you two. Heat. But they’re ignoring us. Too few
targets for their priority programming. They’re going for
numbers.”

I wonder how Chang benefits from attacking the local
settlements, unless he’s trying to force them into serving him. I
feel a pang of guilt, both for whatever aid my people gave him and
for my helpessness now to help whoever’s in his sights.

“Should we call Rios?” Wei asks, looking like he’s
ready to chase after the bots himself. “If he’s sending those
things to attack defenseless people, maybe…”

“They’d detect the signal, and Chang would target us
and your vehicle,” Dee shuts him down. “We have to stay on-mission.
Stopping the hack is priority.” I definitely see the machine
now.

So we sit still and wait for the wave of bots to
pass. Then Dee waves us to follow him again.

We come up on a rise that takes us up high enough to
see over the growth. Out in the Central Blade, five klicks ahead, I
see a rise above the green that looks semi-circular, kilometers
long, several hundred meters high at least, with a lot of flat and
reasonably bare real estate on top. It may be the partial rim of a
large crater (it looks like there’s a big dark depression in the
middle of it), re-sculpted by the ages.

“Target?” I ask the machine.

“I expect that would be Lucifer’s Grave,” he
indicates the crater. “But that’s not where the primary hack is
coming from. Not anymore. It’s moving. Fast.”

“Wh…”

“Headed this way,” he answers before I can finish
asking. “So is the secondary source.”

I see the tree tops rustle. Something’s coming at us
from both the south and the southwest.
Really
fast…

But the two paths intersect just ahead of us, the
secondary actually veering towards the primary. I watch the two
unseen targets collide.

There’s a bright flash, like a massive welder’s arc.
But I don’t hear an explosion. What I hear sounds like a clang of
metal-on-metal.

Then voices. Shouting.

“The hacking signal just got stronger,” Dee lets us
know.

What the hell is going on?

I hear more clanging, see the growth rustle, collapse
as if being cut down. There’s more welder-flash, intermittent, but
not as bright as the initial collision.

“What
is
that?”

Dee doesn’t answer. He slides over the top of the
rise, down toward the unknown event. Vanishes from sight.

“Aw shit…” I hear Wei behind me. “Company,
Lieutenant…” He’s pointing back roughly the way we came, but above
the trees. Something’s flying at us from the north-northwest. It
looks like one of Chang’s light fighters, but then I see a figure
riding on it. It’s one of the immortals’ salvaged flyers. The rider
is wearing black armor under a red sleeveless robe. I recognize the
distinctive helmet: skull-like faceplate, a crest of fanciful
wings. It’s Thompson Bly, Chang’s former Shadow-Knight.

He flies in low, passes us (it seems like everything
is ignoring us today), brakes over the growing clearing. Circles.
Then Bly leaps off, down into the green near whatever’s happening,
sword drawn.