The God Mars Book Four: Live Blades (45 page)

“There
was
an old research station nearby,”
she gives us. “From the nanotech boom of the Twenty-Sixties. This
community was actually built on the abandoned hab-site of the
workers who built and worked it. Our grandparents suspected that
the Modded had secretly moved back into the old labs.”

“In the Barrow?” Erickson reflects on what Jed had
told us. (Or vaguely semi-avoided telling us.
It happened here.
Don’t ever go there.
What the hell is his game?)

Jane nods hesitantly.

“Ground Zero for the Splice, Event, whatever
happened,” I state the obvious conclusion (or the one Jed seems to
be nudging us toward).

“If we believe any of this,” Elias mutters behind his
hand.

“It’s a short boat trip, but we don’t go there, not
for any length of time,” Jane tells us. “The soil is toxic from
unregulated industrial practices back in the Boom.”

“Jed also warned us to stay away from it,” Murphy
tells her.

“So you’ve never been over there?” I interrogate.

“Sometimes our rebellious youth go exploring,” she
admits like it’s another taboo (they seem to have a lot of them).
Perhaps she’d done so herself in her reckless years. I guess her to
be a little older than me. She’s certainly still bold enough to
take point talking to us. “There was never any sign of activity.
The labs were buried deep, sealed. But several years ago, we found
ground that had been disturbed, like someone or something had been
digging. The facility was still sealed—all entrances had been
buried when it was originally vacated. We banned all travel, kept a
watch from our shore for signs of activity. We saw nothing. But
then they found Doc Long one morning.”

“When?” Erickson wants to know.

“A full Season ago,” she estimates. Assuming that’s a
quarter of a Martian year, it would be about six Standard
months.

“Which means he was somehow stalled regenerating for
more than sixty-eight Earth years,” Elias grumbles out loud,
shaking his head. I’m suddenly remembering that old story about the
little girl who fell down a hole into a ridiculously fantastic
world. Elias strikes me as that little girl, assuming she was a
self-superior asshole with no sense of wonder. (It’s not that I
fault him for his doubting, just his lack of social discretion in
expressing it. But then, if he doesn’t think any of this is
real…)

“Maybe he time-traveled across the magic Lake,” I let
Elias know he’s not the only one who’s not buying this at face
value.

“And I’m sure if Captain Jed were here, he’d be able
to explain the perfectly logical quantum phenomena that stole his
clothes,” Elias actually bonds with a little joke, however
snarky.

We shut up. Cal is coming back, and not alone.

I see an odd visual effect: Cal is jogging urgently
down the packed dirt road toward us. The figure with him is
walking—casually, gracefully—but is somehow keeping up.

Assuming this is Doc Long, he’s not terribly
impressive: he’s slim, average, with close-cropped black hair with
random streaks of white-blonde that looks like he was splashed with
a bleaching agent. He’s wearing a simple white tunic, pants and
slipper-like shoes. His features are partly oriental, except… His
eyes don’t match. One is black, almond-shaped; the other is blue,
and almost looks like it belongs on someone else’s face. He flashes
a nervous, shy grin as he approaches. But then I think I see
apprehension as he locks eyes with me, like he recognizes me and
it’s not a good thing, though I’ve never seen him before. Maybe he
just knows the uniform. I expect there must have been some kind of
UNMAC security force on-planet in this version of history. (Maybe
he thinks we’ve come for him?)

“Cal tells me you have an injured man. Modded but not
healing.” His voice is soft, gentle, almost melodic, but also
uneasy, unconfident. He wants to help, but he doesn’t want to be
here.

“Not exactly,” I show him the way. Murphy and the
Ghaddar make space for Long to approach Bly’s prone form. I notice
he hasn’t brought any kind of visible equipment. “His tech is
apparently a simpler version of yours, rigged by one of yours who
came to our world, in order to make a super-soldier. When he tried
to rebel, his master fused that armor to him—he can’t take it off.
He can regenerate, heal, but not quite like your kind.”

“He was hit by lightning on the ship,” Erickson gives
the more immediate history. “He seemed to be fine, but then he lost
consciousness.”

Long looks at the armored body thoughtfully, almost
anxiously. You’d think he would have seen things far more fantastic
and terrible, given the descriptions of this world. (And Long is by
far the plainest immortal I’ve seen, except perhaps for Colonel
Ava, who still wears her duty uniform despite how she’s been
changed.) He hesitates, apprehensive, then kneels over Bly. Hands
touch helmet, facemask, chest plate. I see his eyes go metallic,
then both black.

“Lightning does the most damage to nerve and muscle
tissue, including the heart, perforating the cells…” He sounds like
he’s diagnosing. “The worst of a direct strike often goes around
the body rather than through it—least resistance—but it will
super-heat any metal. His armor may have burned him. The dermal
damage may have put him into shock, especially if he can’t re-grow
it fast enough…”

I think he’s doing more than just touching Bly. I see
his bare and normal-looking fingertips melt into Bly’s armor. He
stays like that—his hands glued to Bly’s chest—for several minutes.
Then he withdraws his hands, sits back on his feet, his eyes
returning to “normal”. (I’m not sure, but I think the black and
blue eyes are now on different sides.)

“Can I have some water, please?”

Jane brings him a cup and a pitcher. He pours and
downs several cups-full in a row, like he’s dying of thirst. He
looks tired, drained.

“He needs to rest. And nutrients.” He gets to his
feet with some difficulty, speaks to Cal, giving him a long set of
instructions. Cal nods and dashes off again. Then he asks Jane, “Is
there someplace he can rest for the night?” Then he looks at us.
“And his friends?”

Jane thinks about it. Looks uncomfortable.

“They won’t harm you,” Long assures—I have no idea
how he came to that conclusion, unless he’s sure he’s capable of
protecting these people from us himself.

“They can stay at my townhouse,” Jane impulsively
agrees. “I’ll round up some extra beds.” Then to us: “It’s close,
but it’s not much. A few rooms.”

“Any shelter is a precious gift,” The Ghaddar thanks
her.

“Your hospitality is very much appreciated,” Murphy
adds.

We go to move Bly, but Long stops us, holds up a
hand. He reaches out cautiously, curiously, touches my shoulder.
Jerks it away after barely a second, like whatever he felt was not
good. But he doesn’t look like it was entirely unexpected—more like
he’s confronting the inevitable. I see it in his mismatched eyes
when he looks at me: Dread. And… regret? That sense he knows me… He
does the same to Erickson and Elias, only with less of a start when
he confirms whatever he suspects. He takes a deep breath. His eyes
track down to our swords.

“You know what we carry?” Erickson confronts, needs
to know.

Long chews his lip, looks lost inside himself.

“Take care of your friend,” he finally deflects. “Cal
will bring him something to help heal him—just put the hose in the
teeth of his mask. I’ll stop by and check on him later.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Erickson pushes. I
realize I feel my sword stir, like it does when it’s anticipating a
fight. The soothing feelings it had been feeding me since we set
foot here have faded. I’ve just eaten, but I’m hungry.

“I’ll stop by and check on him later,” Long repeats
more firmly. Then he turns and leaves, heading down the road the
way he came.

I realize he never asked where we came from, who we
are or how we got here.

It takes Erickson, Elias and I to pick up and carry
Bly. He’s limp like a massive metal doll. Thankfully, Jane’s home
isn’t far: We pass out through the rear of what she calls the
Founders’ Hall—apparently their seat of government, colony ops.
There’s a large open-air amphitheater that the building wraps
around. Jane gives us a quick verbal briefing as if to distract us
from our burden as we go. The building is mostly offices for
elected representatives and civilian officers—she labels herself “a
town manager”, as if there are several. It also houses their
archives, though there’s also a library and what she calls a
“museum” in the colony center. The amphitheater—which looks like it
could seat thousands—is used for “town meetings” as well as
artistic performances; music and theater.

We exit across another packed-dirt path, pass between
another row of two-deck clay-composite buildings, a few of her
fellows following us nervously, helplessly.

I’m struck by how old and handmade the colony seems;
how much green there is, like one of the overgrown ruins, but not.
It’s maintained. There’s a balance between wild grown and
functional occupation. It’s… nice. A beautiful place. Alive…

Jane leads us one more row of buildings back, then
left around one structure, across a perpendicular path, and then
thankfully to one of several doors in a long, two-deck building.
She ushers us inside, makes way for us by clearing our path of…
Toys?

“Ma?” I hear her call. An older woman comes down a
flight of stairs from the upper level, freezes when she sees us.
“It’s okay. I need you to take the kids to John and Carol’s…”

I see two children appear behind the older woman, a
boy and a girl a few years apart in age, barely school age,
curious, startled, amazed—I can only imagine how we look to them.
The older women pushes them back, quietly but urgently tells them
to go to their rooms.

“This is my mother, Anna Jeffries,” Jane introduces.
We take turns introducing ourselves, as if our names would clarify
anything. Jane doesn’t take the time to explain, showing us to a
small room with a plush-looking bed and cabinets with drawers. We
lay Bly down—the bed creaks like it’s in pain. He’s still
unresponsive.

I take a moment to look around. The room’s decorated
with personal items, keepsakes, some of which look very old.
Erickson is drawn to a row of what I realize are ancient paper
books. I also see hardcopy pictures: The children. Her and a male I
think I recognized from the group of representatives. Her mother
and another male, looking younger. Others. Including Colonel Burke
and Tru Greenlove. They look happy…

Hardcopy photos and an electric lamp tell me they
have power generation, maintain some technology.

“You have electricity?” Elias asks what I’m
thinking.

“We have solar,” she admits. “Hydrogen fuel
separators. Limited. But it gives us lights, keeps a few old
personal devices running.”

“Heat?” Murphy asks.

“We burn local wood.”

I think of the Pax cooking fires. Get hungrier.

“Excuse me…” Jane dashes out into the main room. Her
mother and children have come down stairs. I realize the male from
the photo is at the door—the children seem happy to see him,
excitedly tell him to look at their strange visitors. I meet his
eyes, hopefully convey that I’m grateful for the hospitality,
whatever inconvenience we’re causing. He forces a smile back. Then
he and Jane have a brief conversation outside. He takes the
children with him when he leaves.

Ma—Anna—stays.

Murphy apologizes to her for the disruption. Jane
steps in and quickly explains the inexplicable. Erickson repeats
his assurances that we mean no harm. Ma eyes our weapons
nervously.

“You have beautiful children,” Terina gives.

We’ve managed to crowd her home. Jane invites us to
sit, relax, asks if we need anything. Cal comes running, he and
another female carrying canisters and tubing, a stand that looks
like it’s from a med-bay. They set up what looks like a manual IV,
feed the tube into Bly’s “mouth” from one of the canisters
suspended from the stand.

“It’s a nutritive blend,” Cal explains. “High
protein. Carbohydrates. Vitamin-rich. Doc said it should help.” He
shows us that he’s brought extra, refills. “He also said to make
sure to give him water in between.”

“So what does Doc do for you?” Murphy asks, trying
not to sound like he’s as suspicious as the rest of us.

“He helps,” Jane defends. “He was some kind of
physicist, but he knows engineering, chemistry. He’s fixed some of
our generators and equipment, helped our pharmos better synthesize
medicines. He even works the farms, does general repairs. He’s a
good man.”

I thank Cal and his companion for bringing Bly’s
supplements, and he offers to make more up if we need it before he
leaves, offers his regrets that he can’t do more.

“Cal’s a medico,” Jane explains after he’s gone. “He
probably feels helpless with your friend in there. I’ll get you
some bedding, see about some cots. We can move whatever to make you
some space.”

We thank her again, offer whatever help we can
give.

“If there
is
a danger… We have children…
Nowhere to go…” she admits her fears.

“We’ll deal with it,” Erickson assures her. He
actually sounds like he believes it.

“We should go to the Barrow,” the Ghaddar decides as
we settle in. Rashid and Murphy are helping Jane and Anna in the
kitchen.

“The one place Jed told us not to,” I point out the
easy irony, not disagreeing.

“I can get you a boat,” Jane tells us, apparently
keeping an ear on our conversation.

“That facility they told us about,” Erickson tries to
speak more quietly, “if it does have something to do with the
Splice, it might also have something to do with the Yod Project.”
He looks at his brother, shrugs to let him know he has to take the
unlikely tale at just enough face value to give us some kind of
direction. I see his hand absently go to the hilt of his sword. I
feel mine “singing” to me, flooding me with that vaguely blissful
sensation, like a reward, confirmation that we’re on the “right”
path. (But why not just tell us to go there? Or is this part of
some larger manipulation, setting us up so that some of our fellows
will “need” the swords at just the right time?)