The God Mars Book Four: Live Blades (32 page)

The Pax appear to be an intelligent, well-educated,
and ingenious people, who have completely invested themselves in
not only living in harmony with this world, but also in fostering
the environment. Again, I’m surprised that my people have avoided
contact with them to the point of effectively ignoring their
existence. None of what I’m seeing and hearing is common knowledge
to my fellows, unless it’s been restricted to an elite few. (And if
so, why?)

As a testament to their history, to what their
parents and grandparents began here, Sower shows us their “Gallery
of Ancestors”: a large stone chamber arrayed with a silent council
of empty pressure suits, bearing the nametags of their forebears,
hundreds of them. (I expect this also serves as an effective census
of those that survived the Apocalypse.)

I notice the young Nomad—Ishmael—takes particular
interest in this display, taking the time to read each of the
names, as if he’s looking for a specific one. I look to his father,
and see him attempt to hide some consternation at this, as if he
doesn’t approve of his son’s curiosity, or has some concern about
it.

“How did you dig these caves?” Stilson asks Sower.
The elder looks at him like he’s asked a surprisingly foolish
question.

“You say you are Eternal?”

“ETE. Yes. Blue Team. From Northeast Melas.”

“And your companions?” he gestures to Elias and
myself.

“Red Team is far western Melas,” I clarify.

“Do you not communicate with each other?” Sower can’t
understand.

“There are secrets we keep from each other,” Elias
says bitterly, “from our own.” Stilson seems to know what he’s
talking about. Apparently I was right about the secret-keeping, or
at least Elias and Stilson share my suspicions.

“We only know White Eternals,” Sower explains. “In
the beginning, our relationship was a close one. They saved our
lives after the Apocalypse, dug cave shelters for us under their
Station, helped preserve our precious specimens. Together, we
worked to green the Trident, to raise and craft the life our
forefathers had brought from Earth. When I was a boy, when the
forest was just seeding, the Eternals helped us dig this Keep,
close to their Feeds. But then one day they were simply gone,
sealed up in their Station. The Feeds kept flowing, but they would
not speak to us, would not come down anymore. No one knows
why.”

“Some say it was the Katar,” Archer addends, to
Sower’s apparent displeasure. “They came from the west, seeking
better lands.
Our
lands. Our forest.” He glares briefly at
Terina as if he expects argument. She seethes silently. There’s old
rage here, pain.

“Both sides are to blame,” Sower offers. “The Katar
Founders were desperate. We were not generous. There was violence,
from both sides, until we put the Spine between us, drew our
borders, and occasionally redrew them in blood. Now we keep them
with gifts. Mostly. But we cannot share land. North Blade is ours.
Center is theirs. Perhaps that’s why the Eternals left us.”

“My people would not support one group of survivors
against another,” Stilson lets him know. “But we did not try to
help make peace between you, or any other groups in conflict. We
just turned our backs. For that, for my people, I am sorry.”

(Is that it? Are we ashamed of that, so we don’t
speak of it?)

“But here you are now,” Sower allows him.

“Some of us,” Stilson’s bitterness runs deep. I look
at my brother. He turns his eyes to the stone floor.

A party of warriors—still masked—escort Lux and
Azazel to join us. Ram and Bel embrace them heartily, at which
point their escorts relax. (Stilson looks significantly
uncomfortable with physical affection, but awkwardly accepts their
hugging greetings.) The two look in much better shape than when
last I saw them. There’s no longer blood on Lux’s white robes, no
bullet holes in clothing or armor.

They immediately reassure Abbas that his wounded men
are in the hands of their main group (or what remains of it), and
are waiting for them near the eastern end of the Spine Range before
proceeding into Katar. Azazel feeds the coordinates of their camp
into Ishmael’s map device.

Sower offers them food, which they initially decline,
stating that they’ve recently eaten (the disturbing possibilities
flash fresh in my imagination), until Bel tells them there’s “real
meat” to be had, and “good beer”. They enthusiastically accept, and
are shown back to the dining area. Before they go, I see both of
them shoot glances at Ram at Bel, not-so-subtly nodding to our
swords. Ram nods understanding, as if to say the issue will be
addressed soon enough.

“We need to talk, Colonel,” I whisper to Ram, letting
him know the concerns are shared by both sides. He nods, but says
nothing, intentionally ignoring the subject while our hosts are so
present. We continue our tour.

Jak Straker:

“BEWARE THE AGENTS OF THE TETRAGRAMMATON.”

My sword’s been whispering this to me since we united
with Ram and his. I assume it relates to Ram and his, but I’m
well-motivated to ignore it. I trust Ram. I owe Ram. I look up to
him. And I have much more worrisome concerns, most of them due to
this thing that’s attached itself to me and now seems to expect I
simply trust its advice.

On top of my new lust for violence, there’s the
indescribable agony and ecstasy I feel (and crave) as my blade
drinks every kill, as well as all the changes to my body (and my
mind?) that I can’t yet begin to fathom.

I’ve just eaten
meat
for the first time,
something none of my people have tasted since our rations of it ran
out before I was born. And I loved it.
And
I ate enough food
for a squad, along with copious amounts of strong homebrew (and was
only very briefly inebriated for my effort).

My hunger is mostly sated, but still persists at a
low nagging growl in my gut. I’m deeply afraid that this will be my
life from now on: Hunger. Insatiable. And rage and bloodlust.

I’m also crushed by the realization that I may never
be able to return to my fellows, UN or PK. I’m
infected
.
Whatever this technology is, Earthside will be terrified of me.
Even if it can be reversed somehow...

I’m never going home. I certainly don’t dare return
to my people at Melas Two.

I’m never going to be the same.

The wonders of this new world, these new people, are
little consolation. Even the presence of Colonel Ram—who must
certainly know what this is like—and two others in my exact
condition does not comfort me. Especially since we cannot talk
freely in front of the Pax.

The only thing that does comfort is the memory of the
rush of battle, my new power.

Our selective tour of the Pax cave Keep ends roughly
where it began, at the wide mouth facing the jagged choke-point
maze.

“I must ask, Colonel Ram,” Sower diplomatically drops
the other boot. “You and your fellows… What are you?”

“Abbas and his people are just human, like you, only
they rely on oxygen and pressure shelters in the thinner air to the
west,” Ram begins with the easiest news. “And they practice what
they call ‘weight discipline’, which keeps their skeletons closer
to those more recently from Earth.”

Sower doesn’t push the obvious next question, giving
Ram time to respond. I notice Archer is listening intently, hand
idly fingering his mask.

“As for us… We were human. Three of my companions are
ETE, Terraformers—you call them Eternals. They’ve used
nanotechnology to enhance their bodies, something that scares
Earth. Earth rejected such technology after the Apocalypse, sure it
had infected Mars all these years. But it isn’t contagious. It
won’t even function outside of their bodies. Some of them have
decided to use these gifts to help others.” He nods to Stilson and
Erickson and Elias.

“And you?” Archer prods. Sower shoots him a flash
look of disapproval, like he’s been rude.

“From what I’ve been told, what we are is an
extension of that science, sent back from a future where the
Apocalypse didn’t happen. Apparently, most of humanity became what
we are in that reality. Chang and his allies, and the technology of
his killing machines, are also from that world. He found a way back
in time, caused the Apocalypse, the bombing, to stop the technology
from being developed, because of what it did to us. My friends and
I were sent to stop him, or at least keep him from harming
innocents if we can.”

I catch Elias rolling his eyes—I think I heard he’s
some kind of physicist. (Did my sword tell me that?) Yes, I know
the explanation is beyond suspicious, the so-called “time-splice”
ludicrous in its improbability. But there’s no better explanation
for the level of Chang’s—or Ram’s—technology. UNMAC has been
studying it for decades. Supposedly, so have the ETE. Bottom line:
what they’ve got is decades ahead of even what the ETE have
managed.

Sower extends the hand of friendship again. (Perhaps
more cautiously this time?)

“Our hospitality remains,” Sower offers. “You are
welcome in our lands, in our homes.” This last part seems to make
Archer squirm.

“We appreciate that, but must be careful to keep our
distance,” Ram diplomatically semi-declines. “Earth fears us too
much. I fear we may endanger your people.”

“Then I hope when next we meet it will be in better
circumstance,” Sower gives.

Of course, I notice he doesn’t address our
blades.

“Abu Abbas is a good man, and a fierce friend,” Ram
makes a final sell. “If you accept him, he and his people will be
loyal allies to you.”

I pick up some new tension now: Bly, still holding
some old prejudice or grudge, going stiff in his armor. And the
Katar “princess”—I suspect their treaty with the Pax is tentative
at best. (I wonder what shadowy politics will stir when Abbas also
asks the Katar for an alliance. My blade stirs at my hip, giving
its own opinion.)

Abbas exchanges grips with Sower. Archer steps
forward and does the same, then to his son, the warrior Rashid and
the Tranquility ambassador, and finally to the Ghaddar.
Their
arms lock together significantly longer than the
others. The competitive posturing of warriors, or something
else?

(I think I feel Ram get a little uncomfortable
watching the display. I remember he and the Ghaddar were close when
he was still mortal. Were they lovers, as well?)

The Pax warriors bring us four carefully-packed
emergency-type portable shelters for our journey, a most valuable
parting gift. They also give us packs of food and water canisters.
Then they put their masks back on as they array themselves on the
terraces of their Keep to watch us leave. It’s an (intentionally?)
intimidating display.

They watch over us until we make our way out of their
canyon (and probably even after we’re far back into the green).

We decide to follow the foothills of the Pax mountain
eastward for awhile before we start crossing back toward the Spine
to the point indicated on Ishmael’s map, where the rest of Abba’s
Nomads are supposedly waiting. The hope is to avoid drawing further
attention from Asmodeus’ machines, at least for the benefit of the
vulnerable. So we travel east until we pass just beyond the eastern
end of the mountain—still on the outer edge of the North
Blade—perhaps four or five klicks from the rendezvous.

Ram’s “team” has been leading our way, with myself
and my two predicament-companions bringing up the rear. The green
starts to thin—perhaps we’re nearing the unmarked boundary of the
Trident—and they suddenly stop and turn on us.

My blade is immediately ready for a fight, but I
don’t think that’s the intent.

“Are we followed?” Ram asks no one in particular.

“At distance,” Dee answers him. “Five hundred meters.
I doubt they can hear us.”

“Then this is where we talk,” Ram decides. “Let’s
look like we need a rest.”

Abbas and the others take his lead, set down the
shelter packs, check their cylinders. It all looks very casual.

“It
is
good to see you again, Lieutenant
Straker,” Ram reassures me. “I’m just not sure how worried I should
be.” He nods to my sword.

“Neither am I,” I admit uncomfortably.

The three of us quickly and somewhat awkwardly relate
how each sword appeared and attached to us. (Erickson is
particularly embarrassed in telling Terina of his collision with
her father, and must reassure her that he did him no harm.)

“Asmodeus and Fohat called it a ‘Companion’,”
Erickson ends with that detail. “Is that what they are?”

“And what does that
mean
?” Elias demands.

“A Companion was a piece of dead-end consumer tech,”
Bel downplays. “Like cameras and media players and phones: Once
upon a time, each was an individual device, but all became obsolete
as soon as the tech combined into one universal device.”

“A Companion was a nanotech appendage of sorts,”
Azazel tries. “A peripheral device. Designed to supplement bodily
mods.”

“And a bit dangerously,” Bel takes it. “The nanites
were morphic, so they could take any form, become anything the user
might want. But they were also an adaptive interface: They could
connect to other tech, but they could also assimilate and modify
even inanimate objects. Using one, I could, for instance, plug into
this rock or that tree, turn it into something else.”

“The idea was to allow the user to free-craft their
environment,” Azazel almost defends.

“The idea was to get us out of our apathetic stupors,
to get us to actually take interest in our environments again,” Bel
condemns, then explains: “Too many of us had retreated into virtual
existences. They stopped interacting with the world.”