Free The God Mars Book Two: Lost Worlds by Michael Rizzo Page A

ask him.
    “Do you want to hear when it is your duty to report
what you hear to Earth?” he offers me an out.
    “My duty is my own burden,” I commit. “And I have a
more pressing duty to ensure the survival of those under my command
and care. So yes, I do want to hear.”
    He digests that, nods thoughtfully, then gives:
    “We see their silent airships more and more. They go
to Shinkyo. They go toward Zodanga. They go toward the PK Keeps.
Sometimes they come back damaged. Sometimes we hear gunfire and
bombs in the distance, see smoke, or dust storms where the wind
isn’t. It feels like war—war we have seen only in our history
recordings…”
    Jon is nodding heavily.
    It’s only a little more than we’ve seen ourselves,
but enough to indicate that there has been violence. Whatever the
ETE are doing to keep their peace, the survivor factions are resisting .
    I check my canisters. It’s getting to be time to go
back inside. I point to my gauges and stand, brushing the dust off
of me. Sakina is already up and at my side.
    “Stay and eat,” I invite them. “Sleep here before you
travel back.”
    “I would like that,” Abbas agrees. “I will meet with
my people in your greenhouse and join you later?”
    I nod. Then I look over the greenhouse. “We have done
some good things together.”
    Abbas smiles, but then gets serious again: “When they
send their own men from Earth, they will replace you?”
    I give him a shrug, look around tracking the horizon,
the visible boundaries of the life-sustaining valley.
    “This is my home now,” I tell him.
    Abbas smiles and clasps his hand on my shoulder.
    “You would be most welcome among my people, should
the need or desire arise.”
    Then he goes down to see what we have grown.
     
     

Chapter 3: Here There Be Monsters

    6 March, 2116:
     
    I keep delaying more distant and riskier contact
attempts as long as I can.
    I can’t deny the need for intel regarding the
survivor tribes, but I have to tell my new command chain it’s a
matter of needing to protect the people I’m responsible for, and
that our resources are just too limited and fragile. Unofficially,
I feel like I could be handing un-contacted factions—pristine and
vulnerable cultures—over to a foreign superpower whose motives,
however benign they insist they are, will likely prove
devastating.
    My reluctance to carry out priority orders is likely
threatening my continued command. In truth, I am probably unfit to
be their commander on the ground, but I don’t think Matthew or Lisa
would be more dutiful to them. I’m sure my passive-aggressive
tactics have been duly noted by whatever leadership is behind the
new UNMAC.
    But now Earthside, using Richards as its primary
voice (no more warm fuzzy greetings from Secretary Satrapi), is
hinting that they might actually delay relief on the launchpad
without a better census. They do seem less concerned with the
numbers and conditions of survivors than what technology they might
be in possession of. So given what they’re likely to do next if I
continue to be obstinate, I need to throw them something.
     
    My concerns for our resources aren’t exaggerated:
After the battering we took from the Shinkyo, Aziz’ Nomads and then
the Zodangan “pirates”, Morales has managed to keep only four ASVs
and our one AAV even remotely air-worthy.
    The Lancer flies fine, but the once-pristine black
hull has been dented and stripped of its nano-skin in patches where
it took grapeshot hits from Bly’s Dutchman. Smaller cuts betray
where his “boarders” tried to pry in—apparently they had trouble
finding the well-concealed hatches in the dark and chaos while we
tried to shake them off our hull. The only fixes Morales could
offer would be cosmetic at best, painting it the same red-camo as
our ASVs. I opted to leave it black for now, painting over the
scars so it at least looks none the worse for our self-declared
enemies’ efforts.
    Given my options, I decide to send two