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

return,
but someone puts a barrier up, and we humans start thinking harder
about what we can’t have…”
    The meal she brought for us is all local grown,
including a generous helping of fist-sized engineered strawberries
grown from ETE seedlings. I wonder if she’s purposefully reminding
us that Mars can feed us, and better than preserved ration packs
from “home.”
    “I expect a lot of us are thinking about it,” I
agree.
    “I can’t imagine what anyone who had family back home
is thinking right now,” Lisa—who flew in from Melas Three to join
us face-wise—mulls. “Even if you could go back, if you’d left
children on Earth when you deployed, you’d be meeting your grown grandchildren . Your children would be older than you. A life
partner… if they were still alive… I can’t imagine what that would
feel like…” And I catch her looking at me the way she used to, but
only for a second. Then I have to catch the berry juice that’s
running down my chin.
    “That’s why most of us brought family if we could,”
Tru reminds her of a luxury very few of the military personnel were
allowed, then cuts herself off when she realizes her misstep.
    “We’re old UNACT,” I allow her, speaking for Matthew,
Lisa and Rick as well. “None of our group had family. But the
majority of our personnel… All volunteered. Most knew they’d be
leaving home for many years—at least full tours at a time…”
    “But not lifetimes ,” Lisa redirects. I nod
heavily. I wonder how much this “generational shock” does factor
into Earth’s frustratingly minimal communications.
    “Any of your people recognize the couple on that
message?” I ask again, changing the subject. “Any family
resemblances?”
    She shakes her head.
    “No names, Colonel,” Anton cuts in from Candor—he and
Rick have stayed live with us by Link. “I was thinking about that:
They didn’t want to give their names but put their faces on. I’ve
been scanning it apart—we may have been looking at some kind of
avatar, fake faces to avoid identification.”
    “And arrest,” Tru concludes with an edge. “I’m
thinking Colonel Burke is right about the persistence of human
nature.” Matthew turns his eyes away like he isn’t paying
attention, idly nibbling at the warm grainy bread.
    “Incoming!” Anton announces, breaking the mood at
least a bit.
    It’s General Richards, his dress A’s crisp, centered
for effect in front of the UN symbol.
    “Been a long day for all of us, I expect,” he greets
with surprising humanity. “As you’ve already heard, you’ll be
seeing quite a lot of me. I’d default to rank and duty, but I’d
rather establish a better working relationship with you all from
the start, so expect to receive some of the data you have been
requesting.
    “As for the Quarantine issue, I won’t waste your time
telling you I’m sorry or I don’t agree with it. I understand the
need to proceed with caution. But unfortunately the burden is now
upon all of you: The more intelligence you can provide us about
what’s happening there, the more thoughtfully we can proceed
towards proper relief and re-establishment of operations. As for
what that means, it’s all still a matter of debate. The least I can
do is give you an idea of where things stand…”
    We get a montage of what Anton was asking for: Video
of public celebrations set in landmarks we still recognize:
Manhattan, Paris, London, Washington, Moscow, Beijing, Tokyo,
Sydney, Baghdad. The cities around the old architecture seem to
have grown up and out, but nothing is shockingly different—a
handful of new super-scrapers, a few new pieces of large-scale
public art. Each site has some variation on the same monument: a
group of weathered explorers in various colonial gear, usually done
in some kind of red rock or metal, with scrolling banners
announcing memorials to the “brave explorers of a lost
frontier.”
    At one point I see a close-up of a red polished stone
wall