The God Mars Book One: CROATOAN (50 page)

He waves his stylus around the floating map, creating
a rough perimeter. Then he rotates the graphic so everyone can get
a good 3D view.

“I’ll call the first one the ‘Palestinian Option.’
Pull out, cut the site off. Make sure the residents have basic
needs, and let them be. Just keep control of what goes in or out,
and keep enough of an eye on them to make sure they aren’t doing
anything really nasty in there, like making nukes—leave ‘em with an
agreement. If they break the rules, repeat what you did Day One:
Sweep in big and disarm. Bad things will still happen, but it will
cost you—and them—less in the long run. Also, you don’t look like
the bully quite as much: you did your thing for all the right
reasons and then tried to walk away.”

He gives them a few breaths to digest the idea. I
think I see gears turning behind the Team Leaders’ eyes.

“Option Two is the UNACT play,” he continues. “Use
your superhero tech and take the fight to these bastards. Hunt down
their leadership, smack them down before they can get a good hit
rolling at you. The sweet part is you can play your advantages to
best effect, and maybe feel like you’re accomplishing something in
the process. You
will
look like the Big Bad for it, but the
long run and good ideals will play in your favor. Now one extra
thing you’ve got going that we didn’t: the Shinkyo population is
limited
, both in numbers and potential real estate. That
means you have a better chance at management than we had dealing
with the entire map and population of Planet Earth.

“Now for your part: I really,
really
don’t
understand you tech. That means you need to figure out how to play
with what you’ve got. If you think you can make an old man who
never was good with the science as a young man understand what you
can do with what you can do, then I’m game to put my inflated
opinion into the pool.

“Was this at all helpful?”

Paul seems lost in thought. I see Simon grin just a
bit, and Rhiannon and Jaden exchange glances and nod very slightly.
The response from the other team leaders is mixed.

“We should break to consult with our home Stations,”
Rhiannon suggests. “Thank you, Colonel Burke.”

“Well, that sucked,” Matthew sighs after the room
empties.

“I think you did better than you think you did, given
the audience,” I try.

“This reminds me of that time you took me to that
Tibetan Monk thing, with the cool sand painting they spent a week
making grain-by-grain only to blow it away at the end just to show
the impermanence of shit,” he grouses. “A bunch of guys in weird
outfits with that bullshit serenity on their faces that screams
aloof and naïve. You seem to make some kind of connection with
them, but I can’t defeat the urge to slap some reality into their
hippie-dippy world view. They’re getting their asses kicked like a
bunch of green academy lieutenants, and they’re looking at me like
I’m
the idiot.”

“I seem to remember you being the one with the better
people skills between the two of us,” I jab him.

“You’ve mellowed with age. I’ve gotten cranky. You
have any of that bourbon left?”

We don’t hear back from the team leaders after
lunch—they’ve gone outside to sit in the dust under the pink sky
and do their silent-conference routine.

I’m overdue for a wound-check, so I limp down to
B-Deck Medical. My sword wounds are still a little tender,
especially the chop I took to just above my hip joint, which goes
the furthest to limit my mobility. I look like a tiger attacked me
from the shoulders down.

“Colonel…”

It’s Ryder who greets me when I step through the
hatch. She seems a bit shaken by my arrival, but otherwise looks
only a little drawn from her exposure. The multiple little cuts she
got to her face from the blast have healed to deep red-brown
blemishes. She smiles at me sheepishly, has trouble meeting my
eyes.

“You’re looking better than I am,” I tell her,
stripping off my jacket and showing her my arms. She automatically
gloves up and goes about the exam without a word.

“I’m going to need you to drop your pants, sir,” she
orders flatly when she’s done with my arms, though there’s a tremor
in her voice. “Any pain or difficulty with range of motion?”

“I’ve had worse,” I deflect, taking my pants down to
mid-thigh and turning my right hip toward her, “just not as ugly.
Everything works as good as can be expected for an old fart who’s
been through a shredder. Doc Halley did good work.”

The hip wound is the only one that’s still wrapped,
so she has to replace the bandage. The sutures have already
dissolved, leaving a line of fresh red scar that curves almost
eight inches around the side of me. A few more inches to the rear
and I’ve have to admit that one of the bastards got me in the
ass.

“Did you expect to be treating sword-wounds in the
Twenty-Second Century?” I try joking again as she gets a new
dressing in place. She steps back and sits down, hanging her head
like a child that’s done something awful.

“We’ve all been on the edge of losing it since we
woke up to this,” I try validating. “You’ve got more reason than
most. At least
you
didn’t get yourself into a swordfight
with a bunch of ninjas.”

It makes her laugh a little, but she’s starting to
tear up.

“Colonel, please…” she finally gets out, “we only
have three physicians for over a thousand personnel, and no backup
facilities for the foreseeable future. What it comes down to… I had
no right. You can’t afford to be short your only surgeon. And this
isn’t honoring my husband’s name. I know that.”

“Jim was a good leader,” I offer. “That’s saying
something coming from me—just ask Matthew or Rick. And bottom line:
if that Shinkyo fighter was carrying a functioning nuke, running
for the tube wouldn’t have made any difference.”

“You know, I haven’t been back up there since it
happened,” she admits, her voice still small.

“Tru’s done a good job of patching the structure back
together, and the ETE coughed up seedlings for a lot of new
species. Abbas even sent us a handful of strong backs—including a
good welder who’s been sharing tips with Morales. You should go up
and get some sun and see what they’ve done with the place.”

She nods, forcing a smile.

“So, how do I look?” I put her back on topic.

“Better if I’d been in any shape to do the sewing,”
she confesses, though the bitterness is starting to ease.

“Then you get to stitch me up next time.”

“If there’s a next time, I just may let you bleed a
while,” she warns, shaking her head. I get my pants back together
and thank her for the new wrapping. But then I stop at the hatch
and add:

“Listen. I know we’ve been avoiding this, especially
since we don’t really know… But maybe it’s time we did a little
memorial for everyone we can’t account for since the
bombardment.”

She takes a shuddering breath in to let me know she’s
still not quite done crying, and gives me a little nod.

“I think that’s a fine idea, Colonel.”

By dinner, the ETE haven’t broken their circle. I put
together a light meal of warmed Nomad-style bread and some of the
vegetables we got from the ETE, and sit with Matthew, Lisa, Anton
and Rick to speculate on what the ETE might choose to do from here.
Anton lets me know where his team’s at with the transmitter
project, and tells me that Morales thinks she can have one of the
derelict AAVs flying enough to make a mobile command post for the
trip into Candor.

Afterwards, I push myself back into my Spin-Time
regimen, enduring the full fifteen (which I haven’t managed since I
left for my advising stint with the ETE). And, not satisfied with
that abuse, limp back to my quarters to fetch Sakina and my
“present.”

I take her down to the D-Deck gym. Sakina plants
herself cross-legged out of the way, and watches passively while I
re-acquaint my muscles with a real katana. I try not to count how
many decades it’s been since I last made this a serious part of my
life. I didn’t even think about trying to take my own swords on the
shuttle, despite anticipating never returning to Earth. I suppose
it says something that I made room for three liters of small-batch
bourbon instead.

I still remember select fragments of the
choreographed training drills that once were reflex. Many of the
moves and combinations come back readily enough, muscle memory
making up for what my conscious mind has trouble dredging up.

My forearms and shoulders start to ache in short
order—the low gravity makes little difference because the quick,
sharp cuts are about inertia more than weight. I remember an old
warning that I more readily disregarded in my youth: If you haven’t
been keeping up your training, your mind may still remember moves
that your body can’t manage anymore, and that’s how you get hurt.
So I slow down, try to keep to the basics, focus like a beginner,
reacquaint myself with the discipline of patience.

It isn’t long before I’ve got more audience than I’d
expected.

“So that’s the little toy you picked up during your
misadventure at the Shinkyo Colony,” I recognize Tru’s voice before
I turn around to see her limping in. The small selection of junior
officers and enlisted personnel who’d wandered in have all settled
around the edges of the gym to watch quietly (though they give
Sakina a wide berth). Tru seems to be the only one brave enough to
walk out onto the floor where the crazy old man is swinging a
three-foot razor.

“Still don’t know what it means,” I tell her,
stopping my drill (and feeling more than just a bit thankful for
the excuse to take a break). I heft the blade as casually as I can.
“Might as well get some exercise out of it.”

“Or another shot at youth?” she jibes, perhaps
reading me more accurately than I’d like.

“I’ve been meaning to catch you up on the ETE
situation,” I change the subject, smoothly sheathing the blade and
trying not to sound as winded as I am. “They’re digesting their
options against the Shinkyo insurgency. I thought you might be able
to give them some insight.”

“You’d do better,” she counters, sounding like she’s
bristling more than a little bit at the suggestion. “My Ecos never
devalued life, contrary to what your bosses tried to feed the
media. These Shinkyo seem even happier than your old-school Muslim
Extremists to throw away lives on both sides. I can’t even begin to
wrap my head around monsters like that—never could—and I’d rather
not try.”

“I know,” I soothe. “Not asking you to. But hope says
not all the colonists are suicidal killers. The ETE don’t know how
to manage the colony and secure it at the same time. You were the
one I thought about to give them best advice on not totally ‘raqing
the situation.”

“What didn’t ‘raq the situation during the Mariner
and Industry insurgencies was
you
,” she puts it back on me,
but her eyes drop to the floor and she gives me a soft but lopsided
smile. “You reached out instead of busting in guns-blazing.”

“That took both sides,” I remind her.

“You think that’s possible here?” she criticizes,
getting edgy again.

“I don’t really know the Shinkyo,” I tell her, “but I
know the ETE well enough to know they don’t reach out
graciously.”

She grins at that, shakes her head.

“I admit I’ve been thinking lots of bad thoughts
about this amateur occupation they’ve got on their hands,” she
allows. “You think the ETE will take diplomacy lessons from an old
hippie relic?”

“I’ve spent weeks living with them. Believe me:
They’re still hippies at heart, once you strip away the
insufferable smugness.”

“Are you sure you don’t just want me in just to give
your ‘Power Ranger’ pals some credibility when we let Earthside
know what they’ve been up to?”

“Credibility or a conscience,” I toss back. “I don’t
have much to offer in that second category. You do.”

She stews on it for a moment, then throws a bad joke:
“As long as it doesn’t require a threesome with your jailbait
bed-warmer.” She darts a hard glance at Sakina again, who’s
watching Tru like she’s a bug.

“You know that’s not what we’re doing,” I try
correcting. Tru shakes her head and gives me a lopsided grin, then
leans in close to tell me:

“You really are useless at figuring out when a woman
wants to fuck you.”

“It keeps me out of trouble,” I deflect, hoping I’m
not visibly blushing.

Rios shows up just then, providing a welcome excuse
to end the subject. He’s got a pair of Shinkyo swords and a bundle
of batons made out of conduit under his arm.

“Mind if I join you, sir?”

“Please do, Lieutenant.”

He turns and sets his bundles down near where Sakina
is sitting.

“You know where I sleep if you ever decide to stop
playing dumb,” Tru tells me quietly. “Just come alone.”

She turns and limps away.

Rios has some skill at Escrima, and employs the
Shinkyo short swords to good effect with a blade in each hand.
After he warms up (or shows off), I offer to fence with him, and we
switch to the batons he brought. He’s quicker and stronger, but
once I get his basic style I figure out ways to get around him, and
I think he’s surprised. After a few rounds I let him know I’m
getting a little winded (blaming it on my recent injuries), and
suggest he spar with Sakina.

Sakina is reasonably ginger with him, keeping it slow
and fairly passive, and they show each other a few smart
combinations—Rios winds up playing “student” a lot more than Sakina
does, but she seems mildly amused to find the young Lieutenant has
several moves worth learning. Soon, the pace is speeding up, with
Sakina keeping him just matched all the while. She makes no serious
attempt to defeat him.