Moving Mars

I squinted at the western horizon. Phobos would rise soon, and shortly after, Deimos. I squatted on the rough ground, drooped my head, and stared at the dirt between my legs.

  Casseia, Cassie, woman, daughter, wife, no longer existed. I had had my roots torn out too many times. I could not just dig my hand into this soil and grow some new consciousness, some new center to my being — Mars itself was not ours, not mine. We had come from places very far away. We were invaders, dug into the surface like chiggers in skin. Mars belonged to a stillborn biosphere.

  I could not find anything at my center — no emotion, no enthusiasm. Nothing but duty.

  My arms trembled. I willed them to stop but they did not. I was not cold. My legs began to shiver next, and my toes curled in their boots. My suit voice inquired, "Are you feeling well?"

  "No," I murmured.

  "This suit does not monitor a medical emergency, but it will send out a distress signal if you speak aloud the word 'Yes,' or curl your right hand into a loose fist."

  "No," I said.

  "This question will be repeated in two minutes if your symptoms have not improved."

  "No," I said.

  I looked up. There were people standing on the sand and pebbles, not wearing suits. They regarded me curiously.

  My mother approached first and kneeled before me. Behind her came Orianna from Earth and my brother Stan. Stan carried his young son. Orianna's face was blank, but I sensed some resentment. If Phobos had ever fallen on Earth, she would have died. Particular and immediate recognition of the enormity of my guilt.

  I'm having a problem, I thought. I'm having a nervous breakdown.

  My mother touched my arm but I felt nothing. Stan came forward. His little boy dropped to the ground as Stan released him. The boy wobbled from leg to leg, learning to walk. Infants learned to walk sooner on Mars.

  I heard Stan's voice but did not understand anything he said. His tone seemed reassuring.

  After a few minutes of watching the phantoms, alive and dead, I numbly got to my feet, brushed dust from my suit bottom and legs, and turned slowly to survey all of Kaibab.

  "It isn't over," I said. "I can't afford this luxury. I have to hold on."

  Stan nodded, and my mother assumed an expression of understanding sadness. They behaved like mimes; a little exaggerated. "Mother, I'm very glad to see you again, looking so good," I told her. "I wish you could talk to me."

  She shrugged and smiled, still mute. Stan muttered something but foam seemed to fill my ears.

  "When this is all over," I said, "I will take a few weeks and visit the dead. I'll go crazy just to be with you. Okay?"

  Mother tilted her head to one side and gave me her enigma look.

  "Where's Ilya?" I asked. "Here," he said behind me, and I turned, smiling, full of joy.

  I lay on the ground. For a moment I thought somebody bad knocked me down, but I had reclined purposefully and simply did not remember. My throat hurt abominably. I wondered what would make it hurt so. The rim of my helmet was damp around my neck and in the seals below my chin. Oh, I thought. Crying and screaming.

  Affect distancing. I could not acknowledge my weakness by mourning openly. I could not let anyone, even myself, see how far gone I actually was. So I saw ghosts and blanked out to give my body time to release its misery. The mind put on a distracting show and performed its ablutions in primal privacy.

  I had been on the surface for two hours. I felt different — not better, but different. I walked across the waste and re-entered the lock, using my private key, which opened all doors in Kaibab. The lock closed behind me.

  I sucked the dust away, showered quickly in my room, and dressed for the morning meetings.

  Back to business. Nobody the wiser.

  But my time was running out.

  Ti Sandra and her entourage, including Lieh and four of the top Point One people assigned to Preamble, returned the next day to Many Hills. We parted with warm hugs in the offices outside the main lab.

  "I hate to see us get so worn down," she said, holding me at arm's length. As always now, we were surrounded by guards and aides; this was as close to privacy as we could manage, President and Vice President together. "You're like a sister to me, Cassie. Promise me we'll come out of this and retire to run our own station. You'll be the syndic and I'll manage a tea farm. Honorable Martians all."

  "I promise," I said. We hugged again, and Ti Sandra took a deep breath.

  "There's a meeting I'll have to miss, with Cailetet," she said. "Aelita has the scheduling. You'll have to shuttle to the Lal Qila this evening."

  "Crown Niger?" I asked, stomach tensing.

  "Something urgent, he says. Cailetet's not getting any business, I hear. Our punishment is working. You know him better."

  "He's a fapping beast," I said.

  "Keep on keeping on," Ti Sandra said. "You can curse me later, honey."

  I let Aelita and my chief aides sort through the less important events that would have to be canceled, including a status briefing from Wachsler and the Olympians.

  Despite the government's shunning of Cailetet, and its isolation even among the dissenting BMs, it still held a few important cards in the future of the Republic. Crown Niger had skillfully kept himself in office as head syndic despite major blunders.

  Reparations for damage sustained in the Freeze had been demanded by regional governors — if not from Earth, then from the central government, which had no fund so extraordinary. Cailetet had offered to channel funds from sympathetic sources on the Earth. So far, we had refused to discuss the matter. Pressure was increasing, however, and Ti Sandra had hinted earlier that we might have to cut a deal with Crown Niger again — trusting him much less farther than we could oh so willingly throw him.

  I had a few questions of my own to ask him.

  Lal Qila — the Red Fort — lay about three hours' flight south across the valley, in an independent region owned by the smallest Muslim BM, Al Medain. It had been a resort fifty years before, but pernicious exhaustion of resources — water and money — had forced it to become a New Islam monastery. It was said to be very beautiful, all buildings on the surface, native stone facings with poly pressure layers and radiation shields hidden beneath.

  Dandy Breaker and two younger guards, Kiri Meissner and Jacques D'Monte, accompanied a reduced copy of Aelita and me.

  The shuttle ride across the valley was, as always, spectacular. Storms in the deep chasms of Capri churned up rivers of pink and orange dust, six kilometers below; the Eos Chaos swam in ice-crystal clouds streaming in the lee of high winds blowing south. There was no time to lose myself in the landscape, however; Aelita was supplying me with the most recent information about Cailetet's financial position, the status of its loans through Triple banks on the Moon, even Crown Niger's personal finances.

  "Tell me more about his personal life," I said. Aelita Two carried encrypted files from most of Point One's databases. Her image seemed to become full-size and solid, sat in the seat beside me, and made as if to sort through stacks of ghostly papers. She held up a piece of paper with scorched edges and gave me a sly look.

  "That hot, hmm?" I asked.

  "He's New Islam, as is his wife, who left the Fatimites three years ago to marry him. But apparently his affiliation is a convenience. He is not devout."

  This much I knew already. "Not so startling," I told Aelita Two.

  "He's sexually omnivorous. Men, women."

  "Sheep?"

  "No sheep."

  "Corpses?"

  "No evidence of that."

  "Lots of politicians have high spirits. Does he treat his partners well? No complaints, lawsuits, that sort of thing?"

  "No lawsuits. His wife is unhappy but will not leave him."

  "This is all very tame. Why the scorched paper, Aelita?" I asked.

  "Achmed Crown Niger was on Earth for three years following the anti-Statist uprising in Sinai. Data flies have turned up documents which indicate that a man with a very similar sp
eech pattern may have been involved in several political actions is southern Africa, resisting pan-African unification."

  "How similar?"

  "Speech patterns match to ninety-eight percent certainty. This man is listed on fugitive return declarations by GSHA and United Africa. His name is Yusef Mamoud."

  I couldn't think of any particular use for the information, even if it was significant. "Aelita," I said, "scorched paper should indicate murder, pederasty, or the posting of exaggerated penis size in lonelyhearts ads."

  "Beg pardon?" Aelita Two asked. Her humor was no more sophisticated than her political instincts.

  "We have no contacts or contracts with United Africa, and GSHA won't extradite on their behalf. It's not a scorcher. We know he's a political opportunist. A traitor. Someday," I almost choked on the words, but anger made me say them anyway, "we may have to kill him."

  "I see."

  Lal Qila lived up to its name, heavy red walls with minarets at every angle surrounding a dozen stone domes, the largest some two hundred meters in diameter: very expensive, and in the Martian psychology, arrogantly assertive. Mars's New Islam community had always been proud and patriotic, never praying toward Earth, but always west toward the setting sun. The New Islam stations I had visited were clean, orderly, never politically active; their men polite and well-dressed in India-cut longsuits or jallabahs, their women stylish and self-possessed in calf-length sheath dresses with silk or cotton vests, veils down and decorously draped at shoulder.

  It was said that to modestly don a veil before a strange man was the most sincere form of flattery available to a New Islam woman; veiling before a man known to family or community was a sign of intent to court, very stimulating.

  Since this meeting was to be private, our group was met by security and the mayor of the station, a plump, pleasant man in a natty silver-gray long-suit. Dandy, Meissner and D'Monte met with guards from Cailetet. Security arrangements were agreed to, and Aelita Two joined optically with a Cailetet thinker.

  The mayor smelled of anise and rosewater. He led us by foot to a broad, high dome near the station's outer wall. Inside were pillows and fine carpets woven on Earth, wash basins cut in stone for the faithful, displays of the Hajj amulets of departed brothers.

  I squatted on a pillow, stomach acid with tension.

  Crown Niger entered, his walk even more catlike than before. His eyes darted around the large dome, and he squatted with a break in grace that spoke volumes. He expelled his breath with a small groan. "Excuse me, Madam Vice President," he said. "I'm very tired. I'm sure you know why. All of our important files seem to be open to prying eyes. Whatever happened to Martian honor?"

  I smiled. "What can I do for you, Mr. Crown Niger?"

  His nostrils flared. "I'm going to be completely open. I know you can't be, but my situation is different. I'm a small jackal running with wolves. I'm going to tell you what has happened, and let you judge what it means. I'm frightened."

  He was not lying, that much was obvious. He even smelled sour. "I will be completely frank. You have suspected these things already, but I tell them to you now . . . openly. We made many mining claims before the Freeze, on orders from our major partner on Earth."

  "GEWA," I said.

  He shook his head. "Above GEWA. Alliance of Alliances. You have heard rumors?"

  "Not of that," I admitted.

  "It is a fact. Most of the claims were denied, but some we opened to Earth interests, about ninety that we acquired or already controlled. They were seeded with locusts, factories to make destructive nano machines."

  My face must have crimsoned. My hands began to shake with rage.

  "We did not know this would be done, but ... To you, our complicity cannot be excused. This is not why I call you here. I tell you this because we now have no more protection from these locusts than you." He paused.

  "I'm listening," I said.

  "I had hoped to speak with the President."

  "She's busy," I said.

  He sighed. "We've made some breakthroughs at Cailetet. Nothing as impressive as moving moons. Communications . . . Important work, very lucrative. A week ago, we passed this information to our contacts on Earth. We sought to license new technology. We hoped to conduct business even in this climate of crisis. The answer was unexpected. They asked us to disband our research team. They asked us to send our scientists to Earth."

  I had felt superior and in control at the beginning of the conversation. All I felt now was horror. "You told them?" I managed to say.

  "We had an agreement with the Alliance of Alliances. I have never made so great a miscalculation in my life." He clasped his hands under his chin and rocked back and forth on his pillow. "They do not speak with me now. I fear they will take some horrible action. I strongly believe they were behind the Freeze. It's necessary for us to join forces. Together, we may survive."

  "What have you learned about communications?" I asked, my mind racing far ahead of my questions. We would have to leave soon, get back to Kaibab; I would have to confer with Charles and alert the President.

  "We can communicate instantaneously, across great distances," Crown Niger said. "Petty stuff compared to what your people can do . . . But we consider it significant, and we've had no reports that you've made this particular breakthrough."

  "What else have you discovered?" I asked.

  "On Earth, they seem to think there's much more . . . Because of you and your damned exhibitionism!" Crown Niger shouted. He lowered his eyes and sighed again as if with great impatience. "I have worked hard to create a sanctuary away from these insanities. The insanity of Earth, and now of the Republic. I have put my life and soul into standing apart, giving my people the choice of independence."

  "You sold your services to Earth. I don't call that independence."

  His lips drew tight; he seemed about to spit. "I do not care what you think about me. It is clear you have no honor. There is nothing truly Martian about you. You would threaten the mother of us all for political gain. To use such weapons . . . Insane!"

  "Martians have died because of Terrie force. Nobody on Earth has died," I said.

  "So naive! To even display such power, such abilities, in itself must lead to violence. And now Cailetet is put in the same basket with you, by our former friends. Martians think they understand the politics of nations, but Mars is just a spread-out village, fall of simpletons."

  "You've put a new element into the equation," I said. "They think you'll soon be as powerful and as capable as we are."

  "Will we?" he asked, face pale. "Are we on this same track?"

  Whatever Cailetet might discover in another few months or years was actually irrelevant at the moment. "They wanted to bottle this genie from the very beginning, years ago."

  "What must we do?" he asked.

  I stood and said, "The game is out of our control. Do you sense that?"

  He shook his head. "Yes, but — "

  "This Alliance of Alliances must know your history. Disturbances in Africa — linking up with Dauble. They can't possibly trust you. Once you were useful to them. But now . . . " I shook my head. "I have to leave."

  Aelita Two broke her link with the Cailetet thinker. I walked away, the thinker following on her carriage. In the middle of the dome, Achmed Crown Niger got to his feet, raised his arms, and shouted, "What can we do? Tell me! There must be something!"

  Dandy, Meissner and D'Monte joined me in the corridor outside the dome. The mayor of Lal Qila followed, asking questions, trying to understand our sense of urgency. Dandy pushed him back gently, hand on chest. The mayor's mouth fell open, shocked by this rudeness. We left him and his assistants near the entrance to the dome. Within the dome, Crown Niger's shouts and pleas echoed hollow.

  "We're returning to Preamble," I told Dandy. "I have to speak with the President as soon as possible."

  "What's wrong?" Dandy asked.

  "There isn't any time," I said.

  No time, no distance, n
o chance.

  Part Seven

  2184, N.M.Y. 0 Moving Mars

  The final crisis had come. As clear as Martian night, I knew Earth would feel it had no choice but to extinguish the accumulating threats and bring the new technology under its total control. All of Earth's progress and therapy and sophistication would come apart like wet sizzle in fear of our power and unpredictability.

  Once in the air, departing from Lal Qila, I sent an emergency message to Ti Sandra and put Preamble on alert. Ti Sandra replied that she would meet with all her staff and advisors at Many Hills to examine our options.

  "The box of troubles is wide open and will not be closed," she said. "Cassie, nothing we can do is as effective as Preamble. Tell Charles I may call upon him soon, and that he must be prepared."

  Her infinitely weary face has stayed with me in sharp clarity all these years: the face of just and caring power placed in a killing squeeze. I am haunted by that face, so little like the Ti Sandra I had first met and had come to love.

  * * *

  The pilot thinker guided the shuttle across the Kaibab Plateau, engines droning monotonously. The two hours spent soaring over Mars seemed endless; I stared but saw nothing through the window, feeling what a mother must feel for an endangered child.

  "What do you know about the Alliance of Alliances?" I asked Aelita Two.

  "I was most intrigued by that name," the thinker said. "We have no record of it."

  So Point One and Lieh, with all of their data flies and searches, had not penetrated to the top authority. How much could I rely on Crown Niger's words? Had he been deceived, as well? Or was the Alliance of Alliances our multi-minded thinker-enhanced bugbear ruler of Earth, riding high above the plebiscites?

  Whoever was ultimately in control of the forces lined up against Mars, there could be no negotiation with two untrustworthy players wielding, or soon to wield, potentially lethal powers. We would come not to war, which has some rules and some sense of limitation, but to simple, panicked savagery.

  Dandy Breaker faced me across the aisle and leaned over in his seat harness. "We're in real trouble, aren't we?"