The God Mars Book Five: Onryo (25 page)

“Where did they go?” the Ghaddar asks before I
can.

“They have caves in the Divide slope, close to a
Feed.” She doesn’t specify a location, or how exactly she knows
this.

Our first overwhelming impulse is to ask her exactly
where they are, to demand that information, so we can pursue and
finish them in their holes, but we don’t. I’m not sure if that’s me
or Peter.

We spend the next hour searching the Barracks without
urgency. We find fifteen more bodies, mostly all wounded that were
put out of their misery, or put themselves out of their misery. I
notice their non-fatal wounds are from bullets, arrows and
conventional blades. Apparently I was mercifully efficient: anyone
I cut or stabbed or shot either died instantly or succumbed before
they took away the battle dead, which are nowhere to be found.

I wonder out loud where those dead are, and Straker
tells me they were probably given quick burials by laying them out
in a peripheral tunnel section and collapsing the roof down on
them. The badly wounded were mercifully executed a few days later,
as the last of them prepared to withdraw. Those that were able,
likely did the deed themselves. Then a few that we found without
other obvious wounds apparently chose suicide rather than leave
their stronghold, their generational home. Thankfully the two
children I found first were the only two that their parents decided
to take with them to the grave. Straker told me those were of high
rank, Company Commanders, and probably could not bear the shame of
their defeat, or were blamed for it, so their children would have
been “career blacklisted”, condemned to lives of abuse and
miserable duties.

Despite Peter seething like he’s been robbed of his
vengeance, I feel a sense of gratitude that the Keepers decided to
just abandon their Civvies rather than kill them or force them to
evacuate with them. But

“Can these people take care of themselves?” I ask
Straker.

She shrugs.

“The Civvies run the functioning of the Colony,” she
admits. “Air. Water. Food. Power. Structural integrity. The
Garrison only provided security and governance.”

“Their biggest threat is from their former
overlords,” the Ghaddar assesses. I notice Straker doesn’t seem to
take offense at her choice of descriptor. “And Asmodeus, if he
decides he wants the remaining resources of the colony, including
these people.”

“The Katar aren’t interested in taking any further
action against the site,” Straker eliminates one potential danger.
“It’s too far, too high. No Value.”

“Which means they won’t offer to defend it, either,”
I assume. But then a possibility strikes me. “What about my father?
Our people still need a home.”

“He’s thrown his guns and swords in with the Katar,”
Straker lets me know. “This entire territory presents too great a
risk until Asmodeus and the Harvester threat can be dealt with. He
won’t send for the rest of your people in Melas. Not now. Not
yet.”

But that gives me hope for a future for them,
assuming Asmodeus can be defeated, or at least driven away. I could
convince the Civvies to accept the Nomads as friends, and together,
they could rebuild this place, keep it safe from attack. It might
even prove too remote for the Unmakers to bother with.

“Eureka is a lot smaller than Industry or the other
Melas colonies I Served at, but they do have sufficient operational
reactors and recyclers for a population twice this size, assuming
they can keep them maintained,” she tells me, apparently picking up
on my thoughts.

I’m distracted by movement. Above us on the upper
catwalk, at the lock I came in through, I see a boy skittishly
peeking through the hatchway, edging into the dome, cowering and
flinching like he expects to be shot at for his daring. He’s thin,
pale, dirty, maybe a young teen. An adult grabs him from behind and
drags him out.

“They’re still conditioned to stay out of the Keeper
sections,” I channel Peter, “even with their masters gone.”

I think I see a flush of shame cross Straker’s face.
I expect she lived her life believing that her kind were better
than those they “protected”. I expect she was taught to since
birth. Apparently she’s learned better, from the cost of deals made
with Chang, or her travels in the larger world. Or maybe she always
understood what monsters her fellows were, but knew no other order.
I can feel Peter still hold her accountable for the acts of her
people, for whatever she did during her “Service”, but I can’t
imagine her being like them. She’s changed, grown, evolved
(nanotechnology aside). Unfortunately the cost was the destruction
of her home, the deaths of hundreds of her own.

Adding to that: She came here to warn the last
bastion of her old order about making deals with demons, only to
become part of destroying them.

We drag the bodies to a still-functioning freight
elevator that opens out into the labyrinth, and stack them with
care. We’ll take them to a non-critical section of tunnel out on
the perimeter of the colony to bury them.

I find I’m grateful that I didn’t have to dispose of
all of those I’d killed. If so, I expect I’d be moving them in
pieces, scooping gore back into bodies. But the worst would be
having to see it up close, get a good look at what I can do to
flesh and bone with very little effort, and even a modicum of glee.
(Would seeing it—for once having to clean up the blood and gore and
take care of the bodies of those he’d massacred—teach Peter the
ugliness of his “mission”? I doubt it. I remember he made displays
out of body parts to terrify the others. I can see those memories
now, in horrible flashes; and more damning: I can feel the emotions
attached to those memories. He was almost giddy as he did it, like
a child playing a game.)

Peter, for his part, is conspicuously silent during
this whole process. For the first time I feel like I have full
control, that he’s the passenger, letting me do something—however
small—to atone for his sins. (I felt him resist while I buried the
Keepers back at the ship, making it intentionally harder for me
than it needed to be, like he was hoping I would give up and just
dump them like garbage.)

But this sin isn’t just his to atone for. I know I
brought this down on them. In control of my body or not, I
certainly didn’t resist very much, and eagerly cooperated with a
lot of it (enemy of my enemy). I broke their defenses and decimated
their numbers, leaving them vulnerable to my father’s and the
Katar’s blood vengeance. (But if I hadn’t, what would have happened
when my father came for rescue and revenge? Would I be carrying
away
his
body? Rashid’s? The Ghaddar’s? Murphy’s?)

“How is Ambassador Murphy?” I finally remember to ask
after my friend. Straker stops what she’s doing, looks at me like
she doesn’t want to say.

“The bullet tore through his pelvis and into his
bowel. The Katar have good surgeons, but Colonel Ram sent Dee to
assist. He… They had to do a procedure called a ‘colon-ostomy’,
remove part of intestine. His… He has to eliminate through a hole
in his…” She points to a spot in her lower abdomen. Just talking
about it makes her uncomfortable—she’s come to like Murphy in the
short time they’ve known each other, respect him. “…at least for
awhile, until he heals internally. He’s still weak—there was a bad
infection. And his hip was shattered. Azazel made him a new joint
and Dee put it in. He should be able to walk again soon.”

I should feel worse about it than she does, since
I’ve known him longer and it was arguably my stupidity that night
(Peter or no Peter) that may have gotten him shot. But somehow I
feel distanced, detached, like it happened a long time ago, a
lifetime ago. Is this what Asmodeus was talking about, when he said
I’d stop caring about the Normals? Is it because I’m starting to
forget what it felt like to be mortal; because if I can’t be hurt
like that, I have no more empathy for it?

I don’t know what to feel. I’m glad I have my mask
on, so she can’t see.

I nod, hoping it looked sympathetic, then get back to
hauling the dead as respectfully as I can.

As the physical task begins to fatigue me, my
technology tries to automatically tap the decaying flesh for
resources. I have to willfully stop it from doing so, but it gets
harder and harder not to see these human bodies as treasure sacks
of useful nutrients.

I catch Straker looking like she’s having similar
struggles. She occasionally releases her grip on whoever she’s
carrying, steps back, breathes, looks at her gloved hands.

The Ghaddar watches us both like she’s expecting us
to lose control. I’ve seen that look from time-to-time as we worked
to restore the DQ, to bury the dead from that skirmish (especially
when she found the remains of those I’d consumed during my
transformation). I remember hearing that she’d actually
witnessed
Ram’s conversion, sat vigil while Astarte brought
the bodies of fallen enemy soldiers to be consumed, finally fleeing
when she could bear to watch no longer. I expect she sees that
memory when she looks at me. But she hasn’t left. And I haven’t
questioned her choices.

But now I can’t help but question myself: Could I
scavenge the body of a friend, if my need was desperate enough?
Could I scavenge a living body, even accidentally, like Peter did
to me, if I was that badly hurt?

I realize this isn’t the first time I’ve considered
this, I just haven’t taken this much time to process it through. I
realize I’ve let the Ghaddar stay around me because I trust she can
defend herself, even from me, at least enough to get away from me.
But I honestly don’t think I can risk the company of humans
anymore. I’m a constant danger, a ghoul, a machine that will eat
them for its own survival. And like Peter (or Ram or Bel or any of
the others) I may not be able to stop myself.

I have to stay in the moment. I have to finish this
job. And as I do, I practice handling corpses without eating
them.

Before we collapse the tunnel, Straker speaks with
the Civvies to make sure the burial won’t impact their homes,
infrastructure, or limited quality of life. She then encourages
them to occupy the Keeper sections, use their skills for their own
benefit, to repair the damage done in the battle; and to begin
gathering from the surrounding forest, being careful to avoid
anyone coming from the east that looks sick, and to keep well away
from them, keep them shut out of the colony.

They listen to her intently, but it’s clear her
biggest challenge is convincing them that someone who wears the
uniform is encouraging them to be self-ruling. Her second-biggest
challenge is that the Civvies have no leadership of their own. She
encourages them to elect a colony manager, and awkwardly tries to
explain the concept of democracy, something she apparently learned
about only recently herself, from the civilian contingent at Melas
Two.

All the while, I stay well back, the Ghaddar at my
side. Their eyes keep straying to me throughout Straker’s
motivational speech. I can’t be sure if I’m just seeing general
fear or if they feel they need my permission to take her
advice.

“Maybe you should take off your helmet,” the Ghaddar
suggests quietly. “Let them see that you’re human.”

“I’m not,” I growl through my skull mask. She doesn’t
push it.

Once the Civvies are clear, Straker uses her Blade to
collapse the tunnel over the bodies. Then she uses it to carve a
simple memorial on a steel girder that had been used as a tunnel
support, planting it before the rockfall. I step forward, clasp my
hands over my breastplate (right over left) and say the
Salat al
Janazah
like my adoptive father taught me, returning these
warriors to the dust and asking for their forgiveness even though I
know they are likely not of the Faithful.

Your parents were atheists,
Peter suddenly
seems to feel the need to bring up right now, choosing to break his
silence in this most solemn moment.
Not a popular choice on our
world, not since the Tragedy.

I don’t bother to defend my faith to him, or the
implication that I’ve somehow dishonored my birth parents with it.
(I’ve also noticed he doesn’t criticize when we’re praying for his
own loved ones.)

“He’s talking to you, isn’t he?” Straker confronts
with reasonable tact. “The… The one the Seed is programmed to.”

“You can hear him?” I remember Asmodeus could.

“He doesn’t know how to block me,” Straker explains.
“Neither do you. You’re broadcasting to any Modded in close enough
range. It’s something the Mods are designed to do by default, so
the Modded can communicate with each other like networked
machines.”

“I don’t hear
you
,” I realize.

“There are safeties, firewalls, for privacy and
security. I’m learning… Ram, Bel and the others—I can’t hear them
unless they want me to. The trick seems to be throwing up some
white noise; a layer of calm, not thinking, putting up an imaginary
wall of static, if that makes any sense.”

I nod, but I’m not sure it does. This is something
I’m going to need to master before I get my next opportunity to
engage Asmodeus and the Toymaker. (I suddenly wonder if Thel
learned this trick, and how. If he hadn’t, why couldn’t Asmodeus
see his lies in his head?)

“How do you communicate with them over distance?” I
want to know, thinking maybe I could lure Asmodeus to me.

“I use my Blade,” she says with a shrug. “I’m not
sure how the Seed-Modded do it. Maybe you’ll get the chance to ask
them.”

I’m not sure I want to. I remember Asmodeus damning
me, because I enjoyed the slaughter too much.

“Thank you, Lieutenant. For everything.” I look past
her, down the tunnel, to where the Civvies still watch us intently.
“The Colony needs a new Governor,” I suggest lightly. She shakes
her head.