features.
“I will report to the Secretary-General,” Diaz said. “I will tell him you are a crafty soldier. I will tell him your courage and quick action saved the commandos from almost certain destruction. I refer to the jets, of course.”
Marten waited for the kicker. He didn’t have long to wait.
“However, I demand satisfaction from your lieutenant,” Diaz said.
“It what form?” Marten asked.
“A duel,” Diaz said.
“Are you tired of living?”
Major Diaz stiffened. “Without honor, a man is an animal.”
“I ordered Omi to disarm you,” Marten said. “Therefore, your desire for satisfaction should lie with me.”
“I have no desire to kill a soldier who could teach the commandos useful skills,” Diaz said.
“That’s something, at least. Major, why not wait for satisfaction until we find out if Martian space defense still stands? If it doesn’t, the Planetary Union is going to need each one of us. I know that I want you with me when Social Unity launches drop-troops.”
“The weight of honor compels me—”
“Major Diaz,” Marten said. “Honor compels you to save your planet. Mars is for the Martians, remember? Honor means that you must forgo your personal desires until the emergency ends. We are free and wish to remain so. As much as I dislike your murder of prisoners, I recognize your combat ability. You are what the Highborn refer to as a ‘natural soldier.’ You’re a killer. Omi is also a killer. I’ve been trained to mimic one. Killers are always rare and always feared by the vast majority of people. It is strategic and tactical stupidity for the killers of one side to eliminate its best warriors. So despite our personal dislike for each other, we need to work together for at least a little while longer.”
Diaz’s lips had compressed tighter throughout Marten’s speech. Now both his hands gripped his belt. Diaz glanced at Omi, who seemed to watch the major indifferently.
“Your words are compelling,” Diaz said. “I hadn’t realized you possessed honor as well. This changes the issue. …I will agree to your suggestion if you will cede me one concession.”
“What?” Marten asked.
“You must show Secretary-General Chavez Martian dignity.”
In surprise, Marten lifted an eyebrow. “You mean I should stand up when he enters a room?”
“Yes.”
“…agreed,” Marten said, and he held out his hand.
Diaz and he shook. Then the major turned around and hurried away for the door the rest of the men had used.
“You never know,” Marten told Omi.
Omi remained silent.
“Come on,” Marten said. “I need a shower and then I want at least an hour’s sleep.”
Marten had his shower, but not the hour nap. He and Omi were summoned to join Secretary-General Chavez in the Olympus Mons command center.
They rode the magnetic lift and Marten’s ears popped twice as he hastily swallowed time after time.
The command room was surprisingly cramped, with a handful of officers clumped around two monitors. A glass partition showed technicians in white lab-coats watching a room-length monitor-board. The board possessed a hundred multicolored lights and displays, a bewildering amount.
Diaz stood in a corner. The major was pale and his eyes staring, as if he’d learned dreadful news. Secretary-General Chavez stood behind the officers around the two monitors. He stared at an unseen point as he sucked heavily on a stimstick. Red, mildly narcotic smoke hung in a haze above him like a broken halo.
Marten and Omi moved quietly. The guards outside hadn’t even questioned them about their sidearms. Each of them wore long-barreled slug-throwers with explosive bullets. Each carried extra clips. These were deadly close-combat guns. Until now, Marten hadn’t used them. Something about the immediate summons had troubled him. A laser pack and rifle would have been more powerful. But Marten didn’t own one and he doubted the guards would have let him shoulder such a weapon.
Omi had asked about the choice.
“Do you notice how empty this place feels?” Marten had asked.
“Now that you mention it,” Omi had replied, “yes.”
“There’s a reason for that,” Marten had said. “And I don’t think it’s a good reason. So we wear the long- barrels.”
In the cramped command center, no one seemed to notice the difference in armament. The officers were too intent on the monitors. Diaz looked pale enough to faint and Chavez was lost somewhere in his thoughts.
After two minutes of inattention, Marten discreetly cleared his throat.
Major Diaz’s head swiveled around. Marten expected a glare. Instead, Diaz looked lost, bewildered.
Chavez took a deep pull on his stimstick. He exhaled through his nostrils as he slowly turned around. Just as slowly, the distant stare departed as he focused on Marten.
“The shock troopers,” Chavez said. The Secretary-General coughed until he took another deep drag on his stimstick. He left it between his lips as his arm swung down to his side, as if it was too heavy to hold onto the smoldering stick anymore. “Major Diaz said you eliminated an airfield and its jets.”
“At heavy cost, sir,” Marten said.
Chavez took another drag as he shook his head. “Frankly, the way events proceed, that was fantastic success. I can only hope to achieve a like result today.”
“Your men have fixed the proton beam?” Marten asked.
“Not entirely,” Chavez said. With the barest flick of his wrist, he indicated the officers and then the worried- looking technicians in the other room. “They’re petrified. So am I, I suppose. Even Major Diaz shows the strain. Juan,” he told Diaz, “I told you to flee to New Tijuana. Take the shock troopers with you. Someone must survive this day.”
“I stay,” Diaz whispered.
“Stubborn fool,” Chavez said without any rancor.
“Why are you here if the proton beam doesn’t work?” Marten asked.
“‘Not entirely’ means it works after a fashion,” Chavez said. He smiled tiredly. “You don’t understand which is entirely understandable. The Battlefleet is arriving at near orbit. Nothing up there belongs to us. It is all theirs. They captured our moons before the main weapons could inflict damage. We have images of incredible space marines, robots or some deranged form of android. They used stealth tactics and took the moons by surprise. It means they obliterated our satellites with hardly a fight. What kind of domination will they inflict on us if we couldn’t even kill a few of them? They will become even more unbearably proud than before. No. We must damage them. We must make them realize they fought a battle. That is why I am here. That is why I have decided to use a half-working proton beam.”
“The battle is over?” Marten asked in dismay.
Chavez slowly shook his head. “It will never be over. The Martians shall always fight. The Planetary Union has given millions of needlers to the workers. Social Unity will face a bloodbath as they attempt to rule us. It will bring fierce retribution, of this, I am certain. But it is better to die a fighting Martian than to submit to invaders from another planet. Mars is for the Martians.”
Marten stared at the officers. All the Martian satellites had been destroyed? That meant the
“We’re trapped on Mars,” Omi whispered into his ear.
“I’m sorry we could not return you to your shuttle, Mr. Kluge. Commander Zapata took the liberty of cracking your code. He fueled your shuttle.” Chavez made a vague gesture. “It must be space debris now, likely destroyed. I am sorry.”
Marten frowned. Zapata had filled the tanks with propellant?
