On a well-settled Mars, the five major city Council regimes
struggle to meld into a stable, working government. Embracing an official
Unified Faith In Humanity, the Councils are teetering on the verge of pogrom
directed against Christians, Molesters, Jews, Rapists, Buddhists, Murderers,
Muslims, Thieves, Hindu, Embezzlers and Artificial Humans – anyone who
threatens the official Faith and the consolidating power of the Councils. It
makes good sense, right – get rid of religion and Human divisiveness on a
societal level will disappear? An instrument of such a pogrom might just be a
Roman holiday...To see the rest of the chapters, go to SCIENCE FICTION: Martian Holiday on
the right and scroll to the bottom for the first story. If you’d like to read
it from beginning to end (70,000+ words as of now), drop me a line and I’ll
send you the unedited version.
QuinnAH, a young blue Artificial Human,
looked up at Stepan Izmaylova, squinting and finally said, “You really are that
guy who got all the religions kicked off Mars, ain’t you?” Stepan thought to
deny it at first. Quinn didn’t need to know that much about his past – only
what kinds of plans he had for the future. Plans that were bigger than growing
a few tomatoes and giving them away. He wanted to do something to change how
artificial Humans were not perceived, not governed – but how they were defined. He wanted to see them defined
as Human. All Human, without qualification. They would simply be Human; the way
that Quinn blithely defended the hunt as something that simply was. Everyone on
Mars would simply be Humans. “You
gonna make us all Human, ain’t ya?”
“You already are Human, kid. I’m not
going to make you anything.” He paused, pursing his lips and looking at the Dome
as if he could see through the gritty haze of dust that always settled on its
surface. He added, “I’m going to make THEM see YOU.”
“They didn’t have no problem seeing me
when we were in the HOD. They was gonna kill me if they could.”
Stepan actually smirked for the first
time in decades then said, “That’s not the kind of seeing I had in mind, son.
Not the kind of seeing I was thinking of at all.”
“You’re talking weird, Mr…”
“Call me Stepan.”
“I can call you that, but you’re really
Natan Wallach and except for that old guy in the HOD, everyone knows who you
are. How come he don’t?” He paused, looking up at Stepan. He waited. As far as
Stepan was concerned, he could stare until the Dome itself crumbled to dust. He
stared back. After a few moments, Quinn snickered, then said, “They’ll hunt you
like they hunt us. You were supposed to ‘a’ got rid of all religion and stuff,
and here you are doin’ it.”
“Doing what?”
“Religion. You’re here on the Rim to
help us all, isn’t that what the old religion was supposed to be about?”
Stepan sat back on his heels, staring
at Quinn. Finally, he nodded, “‘From the mouth of babes’,” he muttered.
“What’s that mean?”
“In one of my holy books, it’s written,
‘Out
of the mouths of infants and nursing babes you have established strength, because
of Your adversaries, that You might silence the enemy and make the revengeful
cease.’”
“So
you’re gonna help us get rid of the people in the HOD?”
Natan
shook his head, “Nothing that exciting. Just that you’ve spoken a truth and you
gave me a shot of strength. I wasn’t sure what I was doing here.”
Quinn
patted him on the shoulder again. “You want me to keep going?”
Neither
one was paying attention to the roof until a booming roar echoed from the
filthy wall of a formerly transparent Dome rim until a high-pitched whistle
drowned out Stepan’s. A moment later, it was followed by the hooting of a Dome
breach siren.
Stepan
looked down at Quinn, set to run to the nearest Seal Shelter, but Quinn had
started walked, poking the roof with a steel rod. Stepan said, “Aren’t you
going to find shelter?”
Quinn
looked over his shoulder, scowling, “Where’d we go?”
“There
aren’t any Shelters on the Rim?”
He
shrugged and turned back to probing the roof. “Shelters is for Humans. I ain’t
Human.”
Stepan
stared after the boy, find a literal growl rumbling in his throat. This whole
thing – everything he himself had set in motion – sending waves of nausea from
the pit of his stomach burning up his throat. He had to change it, no matter
what. His God had sacrificed his only son for the lives of those who had then
slaughtered him in order to bring men, women, and children whose lives had
missed the mark; who had not won the prize; like the artificial creations of
Humanity. They and the ones who had been branded as undesirable by the United
Faith in Humanity; they were the ones he had condemned by his angry, selfish
pursuit of free will.
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