The God Mars Book Four: Live Blades (44 page)

I’m reminded of the approach to the Pax Keep: masking
growth, then through a short maze of boulders, except this maze is
a steep climb uphill. And what we eventually come to about fifty or
sixty meters up isn’t a developed cliff fortification, only a small
hole, well hidden and no bigger than an emergency shelter hatch,
which means we must pass through it singly and hunched low. (I
realize it’s about exactly wide enough to accommodate our hosts’
bulk.)

Inside, we pass down a short, narrow tunnel in almost
total darkness, to finally emerge in a larger cave that looks like
it was meticulously carved out by hand tools. It’s dimly lit by
small flames, fueled by tubes of what look like some kind of
solidified liquid (it melts and drips where the flame sits atop
it). The warriors that passed ahead of us array themselves as if to
block our further passage.

“Your machines will have to wait outs…” the leader
begins to apologize, but then I hear motors and scraping of metal
on rock. The big bots have managed to fold and compact themselves
and crawl through a space that should be less than half their size.
(A design feature?) They partially unfold in the bigger space,
shaking off dirt, taking positions behind us, protective.

The rest of the armored warriors make it in. I hear
boulders being moved down the tunnel, and the daylight disappears.
We’re sealed in.

Our “hosts” strip off their green camouflage, their
cloaks, but don’t remove their armor, except to set their shields
in racks along the walls with dozens of others. (This gives me my
best look yet at their metal-craft. They are completely covered
with segmented armor. There are almost no vulnerable
gaps—everything is perfectly fitted together.)

Then their leader gestures us down another, larger
tunnel. They move in force before and behind us, keeping us
surrounded.

The tunnel reaches a hub of sorts, branching three
ways. The digging still looks as if it was done by hand, though
very cleanly. Weak points are shored up by cut and carefully fitted
rocks, as well as steel beams that look like they’re made from
scrap. It’s stuffy in the tunnels, but we can breathe easily
enough, and it’s warm.

We keep on deeper into the mountain, passing side
chambers that smell rank and musty, and appear to be used to grow
some odd kinds of leafless plants, with thick flower-like leaves or
dome-shaped or conical “caps” of various colors and textures. They
grow in very little light.

The other Silvermen we pass also wear armor, though
most just the mail and “lighter” plate we saw on their archers, and
no masks. Their faces are pale and almost swollen-looking, with a
lot of ruddy blotching on the cheeks and nose from living in low
pressure. They’re all short and wide, especially across the chests,
but their arms are disproportionally long. They keep their hair and
beards chopped short or braided. Some have facial tattoos, or
ornamental scars that might be burns.

As we go deeper still, I see more metal shoring the
tunnels, and more metal-made objects in side-chambers: Tables,
benches… We pass what I think is a kitchen, since I see a glowing
burn like the Pax had, but they cook in metal pots and pans, not on
a grate over open heat, and I smell no flesh, just savory
herbs.

We also pass what I think is their armorer, their
smiths working on armor repair, painstakingly crafting arrows and
those rocket spearheads of theirs, testing them for true by eye in
the dim light. These men especially stop at our passing, fascinated
by the bots that walk on all-sixes behind us.

We come up upon an especially large cave, the far
wall of which is an actual wall: smooth cast concrete, like a
colony foundation or Unmaker bunker. It looks like the Silvermen
may have found it by chance and have been digging to uncover it,
but it seems to just go on and on. They’ve tried cutting through it
in several places, only to hit a uniform layer of metal that
they’ve scarred with their tools but not breached.

Finally, we stop at a massive metal hatchway that
they’ve uncovered, set deep into the wall. It’s clearly Earth
manufacture, sealed and reinforced like I’ve seen at the Unmaker
installations, only much larger than a door designed just for
personnel—it’s more like the cargo-loading portals I’ve seen at
Melas Two and Tranquility.

I see signs of weld repairs to the hatch, rigging to
the manual lock work. There are four fully armored and armed guards
posted in this space. Their leader speaks with them quickly,
quietly but urgently. Whatever he’s telling them, it makes them
clearly nervous, but they obey.

They step aside from the hatch. Their leader performs
what looks like a series of ritual gestures, then pounds his fist
on his chest plating, over his heart, then against his helmet. Two
of his men step forward and set to unlatching the hatch. It takes
six of them to pull it open.

Beyond the hatch is a clear chamber and another
matching hatch—an airlock. This second hatch also looks repaired
and tampered with. The leader repeats his ritual, and this hatch is
unsealed. On the other side is

Light. Space.

It’s a huge cavern, almost as big as the inside of
the Tranquility dome. Arches of reinforced concrete and steel rise
over a dozen meters to a ceiling pierced by skylights that
efficiently channel daylight down here.

There are gaps—square cut holes—in the walls and
columns that tell me large pieces of equipment have been removed.
The place looks stripped to the basic structure.

“What was this?” my father breaks the silence to ask.
“What was in here?”

“We do not know,” the leader tells us. “We found it
this way, digging our shelters. All buried. We had to make new
locks for the doors. There was only scrap left, which we have
claimed, cycled. Until we found our way to one cavern…”

He leads us on. We take a wide corridor deeper in.
Our steps (and the scuttling of the bots) echo up in the rafters. I
notice a lot of dust on the sealed concrete floor, no prints
disturbing it but ours. They’ve kept out of here for a long
time.

We pass a few more large stripped chambers, lateral
junctions stretching as far as I can see—this place is bigger than
any colony site or Unmaker base I’ve seen, maybe bigger than a Jinn
Station—but we keep on mostly straight until we come to another set
of big hatches, these painted bright red, with warning symbols,
though the icons are unfamiliar.

The outer hatch is unlocked and opened—there’s no
ceremony this time, but they seem to be trying to be as quiet as
possible, as if they don’t want to wake something. They also seem
even more tense now—they look like men opening a door into hell.
Those not working the hatch stand ready for attack.

Hatch open, we file inside the lock and wait, facing
the still-sealed inner doors. The hatch behind us is carefully shut
and locked, sealing us in. Inside this massive airlock, I realize I
see battle damage, specifically cuts made deep into metal and
concrete, and dark stains of old blood. There’s a lot of it…

We stand still and listen for a few moments. Then,
apparently satisfied that we haven’t woken whatever monster they
fear, they very carefully open the inner hatch. Their leader
cautions our bot friends to stay here in the lock, and my father
and I to tread softly and not touch anything. Then he very warily
leads us into… another empty chamber.

There’s nothing to touch. Perhaps less so, this time,
as it looks like massive machinery has been pulled out of floor and
ceiling as well as the walls, leaving deep holes.

Our leader—I still don’t know what to call him—points
across the chamber to an alcove on one side. In it is the only
technology that seems to be left: a series of clear polycarbonate
tubes, each half the size of a man, standing upright and set into
some kind of larger device that has no visible controls, just clean
black surfaces, except where a metal plate has been welded. But it
does look like metal, some kind of alloy, and looks pristine. The
only tampering I see is the tubes: There are five. Three are
ruptured, burst from inside. A fourth looks like it’s been cut
into, forced (the welded plate is fixed over the top of this one).
Those tubes are empty.

The fifth tube, which looks intact, holds a sword.
Except I don’t think it was a sword when we came in here. It seems
to be forming, shaping itself. When it finishes, I see a fine
polished blade with a swirling pattern in the steel, magnificent
scrollwork on the guard and pommel. Truly beautiful.

Just like Erickson’s. And his brother’s and the
Unmaker’s.

I find myself wanting it.

I shake it off, remember why we’re here, the
threat…

But there’s only one. There’s supposed to be t…

“FREE ME. I WILL MAKE YOU STRONG. I WILL GIVE YOU
POWER.”

There’s a voice in my head, in my mind. It sings to
me, soft and sweet. Seductive, like a lover.

“Did… anyone hear that?” I ask nervously.

“I CAN MAKE YOU WHATEVER YOU WANT. WE CAN BE WHATEVER
YOU WANT.”

My father nods, unsettled.

“Don’t listen,” their leader warns. “Don’t listen to
it.”

“FREE ME. I AM YOURS. I AM POWER.”

I step back from the case.

“YOU THINK YOU ARE STILL ONLY A BOY, NOT YET A MAN.
YOU WANT TO BE MORE. I CAN FEEL IT. YOU WANT TO BE WORTHY. I CAN
MAKE YOU AN IMMORTAL. A HERO. STRONG. FAST. INVINCIBLE. WE CAN SAVE
YOUR PEOPLE. WE CAN MAKE THEM STRONG, SAFE. WE CAN AVENGE YOUR
PARENTS. ”

How…?

“It can get in your head,” the leader answers the
question before I can ask, as if he knows. His men step between us
and the sword, level their spears. “It will say things like it
knows you. You must not listen to it. You must never listen.”

“OPEN THE CASE. JUST PRESS YOUR PALM ON THE PANEL. I
AM YOURS. I AM EVERYTHING YOU NEED. OPEN THE CASE.”

A section of the black surface above the occupied
tube lights up, shows me the shape of an open hand (in the same
spot as where the plate is welded above the tampered tube).

“JUST PRESS YOUR PALM ON THE PANEL. I WILL GIVE YOU
EVERYTHING YOU NEED.”

My father shakes his head like he’s trying to clear
it.

“You hear it too?” I have to ask him again. He nods.
He seems to steel himself, gather his will, and finally steps
back.

“It promises power,” he tells me what he’s heard,
what I’ve heard. “Power to protect our people. But we’ve seen what
these things can do to those they take.”

“So have we,” the leader says grimly. “When we first
found it, we tried to stay away. We knew it was danger. But one
night our Tribune snuck in and broke open the case. It took him. It
took him over. He started killing… Consuming… He killed twenty-six
of us, including our Primus—he died hacking the thing off with the
Tribune’s arm, but even then… We had to cut the Tribune into
pieces, burn him. The thing tried to escape, melt into the floor.
One of the rank Milites grabbed it, let it start taking him. We
thought we would have to fight, but he ran, ran here, put the thing
into the last intact cage. We had to cut off his arm. But the thing
put a poison in him and he died when we carried him away from
it.”

My father risks stepping closer to the cases,
gesturing that he’s fine, that he’s being careful. The warriors
still keep their spears on him. He examines the five of them, looks
them over.

“Which one was the sword taken from?”

The leader indicates the forced empty case. They
probably welded the steel plate over the release mechanism to try
to defy temptation, so their “Tribune” just forced the case with
violence, probably destroying its containment function in the
process. Then he points to the case it’s in.

“This was the only cage that was intact, the only one
that would still hold it.”

That there’s no plate welded over the release tells
me they may have just run when they had the chance, locked
themselves out of the chamber, and locked the sword in. It explains
the guards.

“And it was that one empty before?”

“All the others were empty when we opened the
chamber.”

My father turns and looks at me. I know what he’s
thinking:

One’s missing.

Jak Straker:

“This Doc Long… He’s Modded? Immortal?” Erickson’s
grilling our hosts as we wait for their runner to return.

Jane nods uncomfortably. Our other hosts seem to
squirm nervously. I expect they’ve been taught all their lives to
fear hybrid beings. Like us. Me. Maybe Long is some kind of
community secret, his existence breaking generational taboos, not
something they’d easily admit to, especially with strangers. (But
then, they’ve never met strangers, have they?) Or maybe admitting
to Long’s presence opens the door for us to stay—something their
founder grandparents expressly forbade.

In any case, at least one of them, then two, have
been willing to admit to him. Out of… What? Compassion? For Bly (a
scary monster in a metal suit)? Or is it fear? (They do seem to be
completely defenseless against creatures like us. Me.)

“And he came from beyond your magical borders?” Elias
asks the next question, as if looking for more reasons to debunk
all the bullshit science he insists we’re being fed.

“Maybe,” Jane sort-of explains. “Or maybe not… The
Modded—they can regenerate themselves completely from a few core
nanites. It just takes time, depending on available resources. They
even kept backup ‘seeds’ in case of something catastrophic. We just
found Doc Long on the beach one day, sitting in the sand watching
the Lake in a daze. Stark naked. He says his last memory was from
before the Event. He could have just regenerated here, after all
these years.”

“I thought immortals weren’t allowed in your
Preserve,” I confront their conundrum. But not their hypocrisy:
“How could an immortal’s seed have been here?”