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  A warzone?

  “You cannot mix this medication with any other substance. Not alcohol. Not painkillers. Not even vitamins.”

  We haven’t even scratched the surface.

  I am sitting in this room.

  But I still see you.

  In my helmet, I’m the only one here. Beyond me I see things or at least I sense other things with my eyes and my mind takes these stimuli, this information, and tries to convince my spiritual consciousness there are other things, people, and objects when I think or know there is nothing beyond this helmet. They are transmitting these forms to my screen or they have constructed these things, these automatons or maybe these automatons have been here for centuries and are going on with their programming, their mechanical or biomechanical motions powered by a false psychology, a non-form performing a play in the form of life forms or thought-forms or whatever forms.

  It’s infuriating, confusing, depressing, and unbelievable because I may very well be the only person here, the only conscious thing. My helmet is my home is my brain is my consciousness is my mission is my perception of my brain and what can I do and when can I learn more about myself which is the only self around?

  But I’m okay.

  The purpose of this meeting is to settle the matter of the unfortunate incident that followed the arrival of the newly appointed (yes, he was appointed) Administrator of Medicine who, despite praise from various other corporate entities similar to our own, proceeded to disrupt the flow of inventory to and from Mars and through the guise of passing edicts which appeared fruitful at first but soon turned out, as we all have seen (unfortunately so did the public, seeing that it was on nearly every media outlet), to be nothing short of religious-industrial sabotage in the name of the Gorgonaeon Medical Gruppe (or GMG for short), that monolithic gargantua of business that has striven to undermine both our achievements and profits, even though we were the ones to secure their early successes by administering both financial and counsel to their attorneys several years ago as a gesture of goodwill between companies whose goals were in line but not necessarily competitive though now the same cannot be said because this GMG has continually and continuously attempted to block our progress in the development of our most important program which is the crucial step in our successfully fulfilling the purpose of our very existence even though that purpose, at this point, maybe be obsolete and unobtainable considering the setbacks we’ve encountered after appointing the new Administrator of Medicine. So, let’s begin our meeting.

  There appears to be a drug problem among the natives.

  What kind of drugs?

  I don’t know.

  We know it is something native to the land. When the people were transported here, they had not taken anything with them, not even clothing. So, they arrived nude and newborn to this place but now they’re acting like they’ve arrived in some sort of paradise instead of in a ghetto on some moon.

  Personally, I have nothing against intoxicants. If one needs a foreign substance to maintain a desired psychological-spiritual-emotional effect, so be it.

  As it is.

  The Council of Phobos has already taken steps to counter the epidemic despite my argument against such action. The people need to carve out their own destinies amidst seemingly chaotic reality of their existence. What is existence without free will?

  That being said, I’m not sure I would call this issue a drug problem as much as an evolution of native consciousness.

  The offices quickly fill with blood.

  Since the windows are fashioned shut and all the doors are sealed airtight, the blood did not leak out but instead drown the entire four thousand and fifteen employees of the industrial park.

  In response to this tragedy, the companies will raze the buildings and in their place construct a memorial in the shape of a unicursal hexagram with solar flares lit at each point which will be visible from outer space.

  The exact number of casualties is unknown and will most likely remain that way due to the company’s insistence on sending their demolition teams in to erase the entire city from the proverbial map (though the city never actually appeared on any map, terrestrial-based or otherwise). It is with our sympathy that we send you a full report of everything we know about the Sennacherib Incident.

  In the temple there is a statue made of obsidian, gold, hematite, and quartz. It depicts the native lion god of the area. The temple is used in worship of this local deity as well as a minor snake god, the name and origin of which is unknown.

  In 2800 A.D. the temple was destroyed by Yesu and in 4800 A.D. the area was converted by Pope Sophia into a public market.

  I don’t think I ever really think about the fact that I’m on Mars. Honestly, after setting foot and walking on the ground, it doesn’t feel much different from Earth. It wasn’t a life changing experience. I didn’t contemplate my miniscule place in the universe. I still believe the world I live in revolves around me. That is the only perception I know. I’m only here because it’s part of my job. That’s all. I couldn’t care if they sent me to the moon or Venus. Doesn’t matter to me. I don’t have a good work ethic or anything. I just need work to keep my mind busy. In a way, my mind is my universe and when there’s nothing for it to do, bad things happen. The pay is pretty good, too. It got me a complex in New Damascus. Life is good. But when I look at the Earth from the ship, all I see is a hunk of rock with humans on it. There’s nothing breathtaking about it. No different than a ball with insects on it. I don’t buy into the entire “spheres” thing . . . as if every planet we colonize is one step closer to the divine. Quite frankly I think it’s all nonsense. I’m glad I don’t have to subscribe to that to have this job. I do what I do because it’s a job. A job and nothing more.

  Mitchell saw them: the dwarves. He knew them as “the little people” who died out during the Cleanse Laws. Now there they were, sitting at the foot of the cross Mitchell had recently excavated. They were swaying perhaps to some music he couldn’t hear due to his helmet or the volume of the dwarves’ voices or both. They weren’t wearing helmets. That means they must have had the surgery . . . but that was expensive and required a special surgeon. How would they have access to that? And they can’t be native to the planet. Mitchel aimed his gun. He didn’t want to do it but he had his orders. This was his job. Shoot anyone who’s within fifty feet of the cross. There were no exceptions. Men. Women. Children. Mitchell aimed for the biggest one figuring that was the leader, maybe the adult, and perhaps the rest would run away and he wouldn’t have to shoot them. He squeezed the trigger. He missed. But there was no way he missed. The dwarf was dead center in his sights. His commander’s voice rang in his helmet. “Why the hell are you shooting at us?”

  As far as McCarthy was concerned, the matter was closed. There was no need to look further into the dealings between the Edomites and the Martianite Prime Minister. Everything was “above board” as the saying goes. Any further investigation in the matter, McCarthy decided, would be considered treason. He would tell this to his men at the next meeting which was, McCarthy realized, a mere ten minutes away. He needed to get ready. His men couldn’t see him like this. He went into his desk drawer, pulled out a medicine bottle, took a pill out, and swallowed it dry. In ten minutes, he would be ready to address his men in the matter of the dealings between the Edomites and the Prime Minister.

  “If there’s a cell there, we have to act immediately. I have the bombers on standby.”

  “Isn’t that drastic? We don’t even know why they’re there.”

  “But we know who they are and where their roots are. With all due respect, Mr. Prime Minister, but in my official and personal opinion, this is the right choice.”

  “You know I respect your opinion but this may very well start problems with Edom as well as the Global Nations. Next year is election year. I just can’t risk it. I’m sorry.”

  “I understand and accept your decision.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.”


  Each member of the committee was wearing a cross around their neck and my first reaction was one of shock. These were the leaders of the province? Backwards politicians? I realize the cross symbol holds cultural value but it didn’t belong in the running of the province and, more importantly, the planet. All prehistoric systems of human construction had been made officially invalid once we settled on Mars. Why would the committee put value in something that didn’t contribute to the furthering of society? History is null and void. That’s one of the pillars of the constitution. Yet these people are wearing crosses. And I’m wearing a spacesuit.

  Our squad leader told us to open fire and that’s what we did. It’s not our job to determine whether or not our superior’s decision is correct. It’s implied that it is correct because it was determined by our squad leader. We followed orders because that is what we were trained to do. That being said, in hindsight I can see how everyone else might see that situation as a massacre. However, that is not the case. Not in this situation.

  At the time you were given the order, did you know the people you were targeting were Martianites?

  We were under that assumption, yes.

  Can you tell me what you mean by assumption?

  From what we saw, they were dressed like Martianites. Our audio surveillance identified their language as well. I guess it was more than an assumption. I misspoke.

  After the Martianites were neutralized, your squad proceeded into their village, correct?

  Yes, but it was a town, not a village. But yeah, we went down there and went house to house.

  What were you expecting to find?

  They were apparently stockpiling psychochemical weapons.

  Apparently? So your squad leader did not know for sure?

  I didn’t say that. I just meant that, obviously can’t see into the future and we don’t know for sure until we actually see it in person. We need to see it in reality before we can say for sure that they have it.

  Did you find any of the weapons?

  Not in the town, no.

  What do you mean by ‘not in the town’? Isn’t that where you were searching?

  Yes, but several miles east of the town we found traces of chemicals used in the development of psychochemical weapons.

  Are this discovery and the Martianites linked in any way?

  Not directly, no.

  So, indirectly? Can you elaborate on that?

  I’m not authorized to go any further into details of the operation.

  Okay. After the search, what did you do with the survivors?

  We were instructed to bring them to the nearest citadel which was, I think, about thirty kilometers away from our location.

  Were any of the survivors killed after your search?

  Yes. I believe so.

  Yes or no?

  Yes.

  How many?

  About ten.

  You don’t know the exact number?

  No. It was a tense situation. There were so many bodies, alive and dead, and after a while, you can’t really see a difference.

  Under what circumstances did these Martianite survivors come to be killed?

  I don’t remember exactly what happened. Probably some sort of resistance, noncompliance with our orders.

  Was taking lethal measures the only way to stop these situations?

  I was in no position to make that judgment. I followed orders.

  So you were involved in the killings?

  I didn’t say that.

  You said you were following orders.

  I meant in general.

  Okay. At any time after the search, did you discharge your weapon?

  I’d prefer not to answer.

  Okay. At any time after the search, did you have any contact with Martinite survivors?

  I’d prefer not to answer.

  Susan isn’t feeling well.

  As usual.

  She isn’t getting used to it. Not even close. With each day comes the same shock of existence. Her waking life mirrored her dreams in which she was aboard a shuttle and looking at Earth but she wasn’t looking down at Earth as people often say but it was as if the planet was above her, hovering there, a glowing spherical firmament over the void she was trapped within. The impending dread made Susan pray for death which never comes. Instead, she awakes to another ominous entrapment that makes her yearn for annihilation.

  Before we enlisted, they asked us about our Faith. Each of us was brought into a private room with an officer wherein the cosmonaut-to-be explains his Faith. If deemed acceptable, the officer salutes and the young man on the other side of the table is officially a cosmonaut. Others often ask me about my Faith and about what I told the officer. I have an aversion to divulging any personal information but at some point the burden of experience and memory must be lifted in any way possible. But I told him anyway.

  I was born, or rather I was told I was born in Old Bridge. My family moved us here when I was maybe, four . . . five, maybe? Before that I remember a lot, actually, and so my Faith is based in that, those memories of the first few years of my life in Old Bridge which, as you might know, is the site of the first Citadel, the real first one. I know it’s not official but it’s what we have known. These ancient roots, which is the province itself, hold the memories of my Faith. The province is also the source. It’s not an ancestral cult, as is often assumed about people from Old Bridge. It’s a natural and rather primal Faith that instills in us a sacred anger that propels us to things beyond ourselves. We have our saints and our teachers and other details associated with any Faith but I imagine you want something concise, right? So yes, that’s it. That’s my Faith.

  New Merkabah was once described as a majestic city made of jasper, gold, emerald, chalcedony, sardonyx, carnelian, chrysolite, beryl, topaz, chrysoprase, jacinth, and amethyst. Nowadays, the reality is much more underwhelming. It is an industrial park constructed of geo-synthetic materials now gravely eroded by the elements as well as neglect. Its usage is now one of bitter necessity. Fledgling businesses use the buildings to house their offices dedicated to, mostly, the import and export of materials from Earth as well as the coordinating of various bureaucratic issues pertaining to their particular purpose. Those who work in the industrial park refer to it as N.M. and not New Merkabah. This is partly out of convenience but mostly a result of the disintegrated memory of the once-majestic city.

  Yesu tells the boy that it is now his task to watch over his younger brother, the one now christened the Lion. The boy takes his job seriously, doting on the infant at the expense of his usual chores and even his leisure time. The Lion, as this infant will thus be called, was an angry and temperamental child. Throughout the years, the Lion dealt both verbal and physical abuse to his family. Still, the Lion’s older brother, the one who had cared for him the most, and who is now a man, accepted the abuse with nothing less than gratitude. Yesu had told him that the Lion’s actions where, above all else, an extension of the universe, the cosmos, the unfathomable herald of a new age.

  What I saw was the embodiment of the stocks and bonds I had purchased at home which does sound odd, I know, but you have to be acquainted with the ins and outs of the industry to really grasp the nature of the visions. In those business holdings was the Tree of Life splattered with the Demiurge’s blood, the Demiurge being the first chief operating officer, the first vessel to expand terrestrial consciousness beyond the point of the complete collapse of the veil. And so that brings us here. To Mars.

  When I was invited into the office, I was offered a drink which I declined. No reason to get light-headed in a situation like this.

  The men wore suits, Martinite suits, the best quality, the ones you see on those manikins in the shopping district, the ones no one like us can afford.

  I, however, was wearing my fatigues. I had no desire to “dress to impress” especially when I knew why I had been called there.

  My only ally there was Vollmer but he looked drunk and already had one
foot out the door of the company. Smart guy.

  The oldest man, the main guy, spoke first. “You know why you’re here, don’t you?”

  “I’m sorry, no, I don’t.”

  “That seems hard to believe. I hear you’re very astute.”

  “Okay.”

  “Well . . . ” The guy cleared his throat as if trying to provoke me into elaborating. But, of course, I did not. I just didn’t want to. When he realized I wasn’t going to say anything else, he went on. “Well, first we want to thank you for your service. We’ll just get that out of the way.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “That being said, we’re afraid there have been some . . . issues that have come to our attention, issues that, if true, hold some somber implications for the company and for your job and for many other more important things.”

  I wanted to play dumb. I’m used to that and it’s gotten me pretty far. “I don’t understand.”

  “Well . . . ” said another man. I forgot his name but I didn’t really care. All those guys sounded the same to me. I had seen him around the station a lot, though. I think he was one of those astronaut groupies. He cleared his throat. “There’s been word that you’ve been skipping your appointments.”

  “Which appointments?” I asked. I loved playing dumb.

  “Your doctor’s appointments. You’re aware your contract stipulates that the appointments are mandatory and any failure to meet an appointment can jeopardize your position as well as your health.”

  “Yes, I’m aware.” I could see they expected me to elaborate but, of course, I did not. It was too much fun playing with them.