Read Online The God Mars Book Two: Lost Worlds by Michael Rizzo - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Michael Rizzo
Tags: Military, Genetic engineering, War, Technology, High Tech, Heroes, Pirates, Exploration, Warriors, space, mars, Colonization, survivors, terraforming, marooned, nanotech, un, croatoan, ninjas, shinobi
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her in the dim glow of the readouts that tell
me it’s 24:20. The security cameras are pointed as they usually are
to watch over me.
I wonder if I’ve just been dreaming like a dirty old
man, but then I smell her on me. In the near-dark, I watch her lay
there, breathing softly. She doesn’t move but I think she’s awake,
and though she’s got her back turned to me, I think she’s
smiling.
And in that moment I’m absolutely certain I’ll never
be going back to Earth.
5 February, 2116:
“I do want to assure you that we have faith in your
command, Colonel Ram,” Secretary Satrapi soothes professionally in
her latest message. “I can understand your caution. I hope you
understand ours. I any case, I feel we may have started poorly.
This is a joyful but very difficult reunion for all off us.
“In the spirit of building a bridge to our mutual
future, I can give you an update on our relief efforts. We had to
take some old equipment out of storage, re-tool our manufacturing…
The first shipments we send you will be very familiar to you,
because they will be mostly the same design with some updated
technology. Contracts for new shuttles, landing craft and
facilities are in the works as we speak. I am sorry to say we are
long out of practice at interplanetary travel, and we have a lot of
foundation to restore.
“In practical terms, expect material re-supply in
terms of unmanned drops to begin arriving in twelve months. Our
current plans have you receiving at least one significant relief
mission, including volunteer personnel, within eighteen months. Any
practical restoration of the pre-disaster shuttle system is at
least three years away, and it will at best resemble the early
colonial flow that predates even your arrival on Mars.
“I know that’s a long time to wait. Know that our
thoughts and prayers are with you in the interim. And please
continue to send us updated intelligence regarding the survivor
groups you encounter, including their locations and needs…”
I key the message off, but keep the flashcard
balanced in my hands as I sit on the reasonably comfortable flat
rock I found overlooking our growing greenhouse.
“One Earth calendar year,” Abbas digests
thoughtfully, sitting beside me in his bulky gear and armor filled
robes.
“A long time to wait for more coffee,” I joke, then
pop another of the almond-like seeds he’s brought (a delicacy from
the Coprates food trade routes) under my mask and savor it.
“Are none of your people eager to go home?” he
asks.
“A few,” I tell him with a shrug. “But the more we
hear of home, the less calls us back. I think this may be a bigger
shock than waking up and seeing what Mars has become in fifty
years.”
Sakina squats in her cloak a few yards away behind my
left shoulder, watching over me as she always does, still showing
no public sign of the boundaries we’ve crossed when we’re alone at
night in my quarters—when she is Sakina Rashid and not the Zauba’a
Ghaddar.
Abbas’ son Jon sits next to his father; I watch his
gaze keep drifting to Sakina. There’s a mixture of awe and
curiosity in his blue eyes, but I don’t see real fear. His eyes
turn quickly away when she glares at him, only to drift back like a
wayward compass needle. I stifle a grin at the thought of what
Sakina would do to him if she decided to give him the same “care”
as she has been giving me. Youth may have an advantage in
endurance, but experience has been a much greater asset given what
she enjoys—and is capable of—doing.
“Why do they not trust you?” Abbas brings me back.
“They say they do, but only after telling you that they do not want
to.”
“History, my friend,” I tell him, raising my face
into the brisk breeze, staring up into the wispy pink sky. “The
same reason they haven’t relieved me in favor of one of my senior
officers. I’m doing the same thing I did before.”
“Standing with your enemy against your own
me it’s 24:20. The security cameras are pointed as they usually are
to watch over me.
I wonder if I’ve just been dreaming like a dirty old
man, but then I smell her on me. In the near-dark, I watch her lay
there, breathing softly. She doesn’t move but I think she’s awake,
and though she’s got her back turned to me, I think she’s
smiling.
And in that moment I’m absolutely certain I’ll never
be going back to Earth.
5 February, 2116:
“I do want to assure you that we have faith in your
command, Colonel Ram,” Secretary Satrapi soothes professionally in
her latest message. “I can understand your caution. I hope you
understand ours. I any case, I feel we may have started poorly.
This is a joyful but very difficult reunion for all off us.
“In the spirit of building a bridge to our mutual
future, I can give you an update on our relief efforts. We had to
take some old equipment out of storage, re-tool our manufacturing…
The first shipments we send you will be very familiar to you,
because they will be mostly the same design with some updated
technology. Contracts for new shuttles, landing craft and
facilities are in the works as we speak. I am sorry to say we are
long out of practice at interplanetary travel, and we have a lot of
foundation to restore.
“In practical terms, expect material re-supply in
terms of unmanned drops to begin arriving in twelve months. Our
current plans have you receiving at least one significant relief
mission, including volunteer personnel, within eighteen months. Any
practical restoration of the pre-disaster shuttle system is at
least three years away, and it will at best resemble the early
colonial flow that predates even your arrival on Mars.
“I know that’s a long time to wait. Know that our
thoughts and prayers are with you in the interim. And please
continue to send us updated intelligence regarding the survivor
groups you encounter, including their locations and needs…”
I key the message off, but keep the flashcard
balanced in my hands as I sit on the reasonably comfortable flat
rock I found overlooking our growing greenhouse.
“One Earth calendar year,” Abbas digests
thoughtfully, sitting beside me in his bulky gear and armor filled
robes.
“A long time to wait for more coffee,” I joke, then
pop another of the almond-like seeds he’s brought (a delicacy from
the Coprates food trade routes) under my mask and savor it.
“Are none of your people eager to go home?” he
asks.
“A few,” I tell him with a shrug. “But the more we
hear of home, the less calls us back. I think this may be a bigger
shock than waking up and seeing what Mars has become in fifty
years.”
Sakina squats in her cloak a few yards away behind my
left shoulder, watching over me as she always does, still showing
no public sign of the boundaries we’ve crossed when we’re alone at
night in my quarters—when she is Sakina Rashid and not the Zauba’a
Ghaddar.
Abbas’ son Jon sits next to his father; I watch his
gaze keep drifting to Sakina. There’s a mixture of awe and
curiosity in his blue eyes, but I don’t see real fear. His eyes
turn quickly away when she glares at him, only to drift back like a
wayward compass needle. I stifle a grin at the thought of what
Sakina would do to him if she decided to give him the same “care”
as she has been giving me. Youth may have an advantage in
endurance, but experience has been a much greater asset given what
she enjoys—and is capable of—doing.
“Why do they not trust you?” Abbas brings me back.
“They say they do, but only after telling you that they do not want
to.”
“History, my friend,” I tell him, raising my face
into the brisk breeze, staring up into the wispy pink sky. “The
same reason they haven’t relieved me in favor of one of my senior
officers. I’m doing the same thing I did before.”
“Standing with your enemy against your own
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